


The Bean Counter

by HopeCoppice



Category: Young Dracula
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Additional Warnings Will Be Added When Applicable, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, M/M, Phone Sex, Rating May Change, Renfield forgot to exist - oops?, Slow Build, Tumblr Prompt, references to slavery and child trafficking, yes there is smut now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-20 21:16:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with Malik playing a harmless prank on his younger brother. Then things got crazy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sign

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this Tumblr post: http://brolininthetardis.tumblr.com/post/51732496539/this-is-a-coffeeshop-au-screaming-to-be-brought
> 
> It started as a one-shot and got out of control, apparently now standing at 26000+ words. In two weeks. Oops. Still, it's complete so updates should be relatively frequent.

__

_TODAY YOUR BARISTA IS:_

  1. _Hella fucking Gay._
  2. _Desperately single._



_FOR YOUR DRINK TODAY I RECOMMEND:_  
 _You give me your number._

 “Hi, welcome to the Bean Counter. What can I get you today?” Bertrand frowned at the sign – surely that language was highly inappropriate, there were children in the shop after all. “Um, hello?” He glanced up and blushed as he realised the young man behind the counter was talking to him.  
“Oh. Sorry.” He couldn't remember what he'd been asked, or what he'd been planning to order, so he decided to play for time by blurting out the first thing that sprung to mind. “Is this your sign?”  
“Uh... Yeah. I'm Vlad.” The boy was regarding him anxiously, and Bertrand realised he was still scowling. “I know it's not to everyone's tastes, but if you try it-”  
“It's hardly appropriate in a family-friendly café, is it?”  
“Well, we obviously don't recommend it for children, they'd be bouncing off the walls-” The barista – _Vlad_ – stopped suddenly and turned the sign towards him. “Oh, for- INGRID!”  
“It was Malik,” a feminine voice floated down the stairs behind the counter, “I just gave you a capital G to emphasise your undeniable gayness.”

Vlad seemed to struggle with himself for a few moments, torn between going up there to yell at her some more and his duties as barista. Fortunately, the place was pretty empty, so there was no queue building up. At last, decision made, he turned back to Bertrand, face burning.  
“I'm so sorry. My siblings-” he dropped his gaze back to the sign and began scrubbing off the chalked portions.  
“You're not, then?” Vlad blushed even further, scrubbing harder, and Bertrand smiled without knowing why.  
“Desperate? No. Single, yeah, but that's not so bad, really-”  
“Gay?” What a horribly inappropriate thing to ask, Bertrand realised too late, and Vlad's head snapped up, startled.  
“Um, yeah, actually. Is that... is that a problem? 'Cos I can get Ingrid to come down and make your drink for you if you don't want... Or her boyfriend, Will, he makes an alright coffee, and both of them are definitely straight-”  
“Why would I want someone else to make my drink? Which I haven't even ordered yet.”  
“Oh, sorry – I got distracted-” He waved the now-blank sign by way of both explanation and apology. “What would you like?” Bertrand reached out and tapped the sign, smiling.  
“What do you recommend?” The boy visibly relaxed.  
“Well, if Malik hadn't got hold of the sign, it would have said... I mean, not everyone likes it, but-”  
“You said it wasn't for everyone, before. I'm intrigued.” And he was; he didn't know why, but he wanted to hear about this mysterious drink that would have children bouncing off walls and adults declaring it not to their tastes. 

So Vlad told him. He couldn't quite help the face he pulled.  
“It's not that bad, really!” Bertrand laughed, then grimaced apologetically at the crestfallen expression on the barista's face.  
“Sorry, I just... don't usually take that much sugar in my _sugar_ , never mind my coffee. I'll have... actually, I don't have any marking to do tonight, can I have a strong white tea, to go?”  
“You're a teacher?” And then, “Sorry, I mean... coming right up.”

Bertrand waited as Vlad set all the necessary equipment in motion, then spoke as if there'd been no pause.  
“A private tutor. Languages.”  
“Which language?” Vlad seemed interested despite himself, and Bertrand couldn't help but laugh awkwardly.  
“Most of the demand is for French and Italian. Which works out well for me. I teach others.” He laughed again at the look on the barista's face. “I travelled a lot as a child. Kids find that stuff easier to learn, I just picked it up. How about you, work here a lot?”  
“I live here,” Vlad sighed, and there was something sad in the sound. “Literally. This is the family business.” And then, before Bertrand could say anything more, the tea was made, and a queue was beginning to form behind him at last. He had a lesson to get to soon, and so all he could do was hand over more money than his tea cost and tell Vlad to keep the change.  
“And don't forget to get revenge on your brother,” he muttered, before taking the cup from the counter and heading out to his class.

 

* * *

 

Vlad knew it was stupid, but every time the little bell on the door went he couldn't help but look. By the time seven o'clock approached, he'd fixed his sign to display his name and his recommendation – like it was _supposed_ to – and was waiting out yet another lull with an anxious feeling in his stomach. It had been too quiet around here lately. He'd have to Google for any new Starbucks later, check their territory wasn't being muscled in on. 

The bell rang as the door swung open and Vlad glanced up, only to see his older brother swan in.  
“Alright, Vladdy? Anything interesting happen to- oh, you've fixed it.” Vlad treated him to his very best glare.  
“Yeah. I fixed it. Not before a customer told me off about how it wasn't exactly appropriate with kids about, and he was _right_ , Malik, if I told Dad-”  
“ _He_? Was he cute?” Malik clearly had no intention of taking this seriously, choosing instead to trot out his best impression of a cheerleader in a teen movie.  
“What? Well, yeah, kind of, but that's not the-”  
“Oh my god, you actually _fancy_ this guy, don't you? Why are you still cross, then, didn't he leave you his number?”  
“Well, no, actually-”  
“Shame, he must have taste-” 

The bell over the door rang again, and Vlad was too busy glaring at his brother to even look.  
“We close in ten minutes,” he called absent-mindedly, a warning not to linger for too long over the selection of drinks or make oneself comfortable at a table.  
“Oh. Sorry. D'you want me to-?”  
“It's you!” Sure enough, there he was, the guy from earlier. “No, come in, it's fine.”  
“It's _you_!” Malik mimicked, then turned to the customer and gave him a long, appraising look as he approached the counter. “Alright? My little brother here was just talking about you.”  
“I wasn't-”  
“Ah, you must be the prankster. Hardly appropriate in a café that could fill up with children, do you think?” Malik grinned that dangerous grin that meant he was weighing up whether to start something, then shrugged easily.  
“No fun, _and_ he's not as cute as you said, Vlad. I'm out of here. I'll leave you to it, start of something beautiful and all that.” Before Vlad could even finish hissing,  
“ _Malik_ , he's a _customer_!” he was gone up the stairs, leaving them alone in the deserted café.

There was an awkward silence, and then they both spoke at once.  
“You said I was-?”  
“I didn't think you'd be back today.” He blushed, hoping the tutor wouldn't push his own line of questioning. To his relief, the older man just grimaced.  
“Neither did I. Word of advice; don't try to teach Russian to four-year-old triplets right after lunch. Especially the ones with parents who'll constantly ask you if you're teaching them rude words.”  
“I'll keep it in mind. Coffee, then?” His customer nodded wearily, and on a whim Vlad came out from behind the counter.  
“One moment, something I've got to do and then I'll be back to take your order. Grab a seat, it's not like we're busy.”  
“If I sit down, I'm not sure I'll be able to stand back up,” the man admitted, and Vlad touched his arm as he passed.  
“If you're not in a hurry, you don't need to leave before you're ready.” He reached the door, flipped the sign to 'Closed' – it wasn't as if anyone ever turned up at five minutes to closing time anyway – and turned back to see the older man sinking gratefully into a chair at one of the smaller tables.

“They're going to have a lesson _every week_. I'm not even sure I need the money that much. Oh, um, just a regular black coffee, please. It only needs to get me home.” Vlad scuttled back behind the counter and got the machine going, calling out over the noise.  
“So are you going to stop teaching them then?” The unfortunate tutor heaved a huge sigh before looking up.  
“Nah.” The coffee machine gave a final shudder and was silent; Vlad grabbed a to-go cup automatically to save himself some washing up. “I mean, nobody else is going to take them on if I quit. They seem good kids, really, just... lively. And... well... _three_ of them.” Vlad grimaced in sympathy; they'd had a birthday party come in a couple of weeks ago, for reasons best known to the kid's parents, and it had been utter chaos. He put the cup in front of his customer and the man _clung_ to it, like it would save his life. Then, reluctantly, he set it back down and pulled out his wallet, handing over too much money again.

“Did you really say I was cute?” Vlad, half-way to the till, froze.  
“No! I mean... it wasn't like that... he asked.” He leant over the counter to prod at the buttons from the customer side so he wouldn't have to face him.  
“Well... Thanks... I'll let you lock up, thanks for this.” By the time he turned, change in hand, the little bell had already told him what his eyes now confirmed. The man was gone.

_Damn_.


	2. Startle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a slightly longer chapter for you. They do vary a bit in length, I'm afraid. Enjoy!

Bertrand spent three days wondering if he should go back to the Bean Counter. It wasn't that he was embarrassed by Vlad's apparent assessment of his looks – well, he _was_ , but in a flattering way; nobody had called him _cute_ since he was at university, and it had been half a decade since graduation – but he had reacted to it so badly, and made a far bigger deal of it than needed to be made, and now Vlad probably thought he was some kind of hopeless misanthrope, or – worse – that he thought Vlad _fancied_ him. Bertrand wasn't a fool; he knew the difference between appreciating somebody's looks and actually being attracted to them, not to mention that they were strangers, and they really knew very little about one another, and it was _awkward_ when someone thought you fancied them and you didn't.

Especially when that person had a tiny, _miniscule_ crush on you in return.

Alright, maybe Bertrand was a fool after all, because the ridiculous barista with his ludicrous sign and his awkward smile and his _blushing_... He'd got under Bertrand's skin somehow, and now he couldn't stop thinking about him. About getting to know him, finding out why he'd sounded so sad about his family's shop, learning what made him happy and what wound him up. He wanted, he realised with a jolt, to be Vlad's _friend_. And there was no reason for that, really. Yes, the boy was attractive, but Bertrand spoke to attractive people behind shop counters every day and never spared them a second thought – why on earth should Vlad be any different?

He would go back, he decided, just to prove that he could be a normal adult human being and stop obsessing over the boy. After all, it was probably just the awkwardness of their last meeting that was sticking in his mind. Once he'd apologised for that, it would all just go away. He was sure of it.

So it wasn't _disappointment_ that he was feeling, when he arrived at the Bean Counter at last only to find Malik behind the counter, with a girl. He didn't seem to be doing any work, mostly just winding her up and flirting with the female customers in the queue. In fairness, as the line of people slowly moved along, he did seem to be raking in the tips, so it wasn't as if he wasn't contributing. And then, just as Bertrand finished giving his order to the girl, Malik's latest flirtation left and he turned.

“Ingrid, look after things here for a minute, I've got to go and get something.” Then he disappeared towards the stairs. Ingrid – Vlad's sister, Bertrand realised, the one who'd been involved in changing his sign that fateful day – rolled her eyes.  
“How will I live without your help?” She handed Bertrand his drink – he'd ordered it in a proper cup, determined to at least sit in the place for a while in the hope of exorcising these _feelings_ he was having – and took his money. He did his best to resist the urge, but as she handed him his change he couldn't help but ask.  
“No Vlad today?” Her eyes went wide.  
“Oh, are _you_ that guy? VLAD! YOUR BOYFRIEND'S DOWN HERE!” Bertrand blushed hotly, but stood his ground as footsteps made their way down the stairs. If his shoulders slumped a little at the sight of Malik, it was only because the guy got on his nerves. That was all it was.  
“I'd almost got him downstairs, Ingrid, thanks for that.”

Bertrand beat a hasty retreat to a table in the corner and drank his coffee as fast as he could. It wasn't as good as the last coffee he'd got here, he told himself, and ignored the little voice in his head that said it was just the wrong barista. It wasn't as good, and that was why he wanted to rid himself of it as fast as possible and get out of here. Nothing to do with fleeing at all. He was just standing to go when a familiar voice sounded just behind him.  
“Uh... hey.” He whirled round, and there he was. Vlad the barista, blinking up at him, looking a little nervous.

“Hey.” He knew he was grinning like an idiot, but he couldn't help it. “I... I was just-”  
“I won't keep you. I just wanted to apologise. For those two, mostly.” Malik and Ingrid, Bertrand realised suddenly, were loudly humming a compilation of all the soppiest love songs they'd ever heard.  
“That's alright. I wanted to say I'm sorry for running out on you the other day. It's not because I thought you were weird or fancied me or something, I just... you had to lock up.”  
“I told you there was no hurry,” Vlad admonished, but he looked a lot happier already. “I'm glad I didn't freak you out.”  
“Not at all,” he lied. “I... um, I really should go, I've got a class in fifteen minutes and it never looks good if the teacher's late-” Unfotunately, that bit was true.  
“Not four-year-olds?” He'd remembered. Bertrand's smile softened slightly; he felt it.  
“Not four-year-olds. Eight-year-olds, a class of ten. Always a joy, as long as they don't get crazy.”  
“Well, I hope they behave. Oh- before you go- I wanted to give you these.” He held out a couple of bits of card, which Bertrand inspected briefly before looking up in confusion.  
“Loyalty cards?” They were the kind where buying nine drinks entitled you to a free tenth one. He glanced back down again and frowned, holding one of them back out. “This one's already full, you don't want to give that out-”  
“No, I do. I mean... well, you keep leaving your change behind, you've already left a whole coffee's worth, so... consider that one on me. And the three marked off on the other card are the ones you've bought recently. I thought... it might make you come back. It's nice to have regulars.”  
“I would have come back,” he assured him, “if only for the excellent service. But I really do have to go, if you're sure about-”  
“Wait, before you do-” Bertrand paused, waiting for the catch. Perhaps they wanted all their drinks' names translated into some unusual language, to compete with the new Starbucks, or something. That was why Vlad was being so nice to him. What did he want in return? “I... I just... Will you tell me your name?”

Bertrand stared for a moment, trying to work the boy out, but that proved to be a lost cause. Thinking about it, he supposed he hadn't told Vlad his name yet, and that did seem strange. A glance at his watch told him that if he didn't leave now, his class would be a lost cause too.  
“Bertrand. My name's Bertrand. I'm really sorry, I've got to- I'll see you soon, yeah?” And he ran.

* * *

Vlad wasn't working extra shifts.

Well, alright, he sort of was, but it wasn't so he could see that guy – _Bertrand_ – again, or anything. It was just that Malik and Ingrid had got it into their heads that he'd want to be in the café all the time now, and it wasn't as if he didn't like the extra money taking their shifts brought in, and honestly, his siblings might drive him mad sometimes but that didn't mean he couldn't help them out now and then.

What he really _didn't_ like about it was that his Dad kept shooting him proud looks and telling him how good it was to see him finally giving the family business the commitment it deserved. Vlad didn't know what he thought he was talking about – Dad had never even worked in the coffee shop, he just handled all the finances and made sure he kept his kids and their friends employed – but he knew he was sick of being badgered about being the 'heir to the Bean Counter'. It was completely unfair – Malik worked as and when he felt like it, what with the fortune he'd inherited when his mother was committed to an institution and he was given power of attorney, and Ingrid was in her final year of uni, studying Politics before – theoretically – following _their_ mother into the fashion industry. Privately, Vlad thought it unlikely that Ingrid was going to sacrifice her assorted causes for makeup and modelling, but still, that was the plan and pretending to go along with it had got her permission to go off to university in the first place. Vlad had wanted to go – maybe not even to uni, maybe just travelling – but his Dad had put his foot down.  
 _“You're going to take over the Bean Counter,”_ he'd told him grandly, and flicked on the lights to the – back then – rather empty, rather grubby little shop. _“One day, everything the light touches will be yours. Once we get it up and running, it'll be a good little business and you'll make me proud.”_

“And what about outside?” Vlad grumbled quietly at the memory as he crouched to pull fresh beans from under the counter. “That's the real world, Vlad, and you must never go there.”  
“Talking to yourself makes people think you're weird, you know.” He bashed his head on the edge of the coffee machine as he stood up in a hurry, to find two Bertrands peering anxiously at him. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, you just... you were quoting the Lion King to yourself, did you notice?” Vlad clamped a hand to his head and blinked furiously, trying to clear his vision.  
“Yeah, I... I didn't mean to say it out loud.” Bertrand was still watching him carefully.  
“You look dizzy, is there anyone who can take over for you for a while?” Vlad shook his head and wished he hadn't.  
“No. I mean, yeah, I think someone's in, but I'm fine-” Ingrid appeared at the bottom of the stairs as he spoke, and Bertrand waved at her urgently. He wanted to ask him what was going on – well, no, he sort of just wanted to grab onto something to hold himself up, but he wasn't sure which of the two coffee shops in his wobbly vision was more solid... A brief conversation occurred somewhere near his head – it was fuzzy and he didn't catch the words - and then Ingrid was nudging him sideways, towards the gap in the counter. The movement unbalanced him, and the last thing Vlad was aware of was the world spinning around him as he landed heavily in someone's arms.

* * *

Bertrand had seen the young barista sway just before he fell, and instinctively rushed behind the counter to catch him. Ingrid made as if to shoo him back out, but he was still holding Vlad and, after a moment's helpless standoff, she relented.

“Do you think you can get him upstairs?” He eyed the stairs for a moment, then nodded.  
“Probably.”  
“Well then, the living room's the first door you see on your left, you can put him on the sofa in there. It's up to you if you stay with him after that, Dad's around and he'll probably come in to see what's going on.” Then she turned back to the steadily-building queue with one last worried look at her little brother.

Bertrand accepted the dismissal, shifting the boy awkwardly into a position more conducive to movement, and then lurched towards the stairs with him, uncomfortably aware that he was entering Vlad's _house_ , his private space, and without his permission. Still, it was quieter as he went up the stairs, and when he tentatively pushed open the door Ingrid had described he was relieved to find that it really did lead to a living room. He carefully lowered the unconscious boy onto the sofa and ran his fingers through his hair, as gently as possible, until he found the rapidly-swelling bump where Vlad had bashed his head. He hissed in a breath in sympathy.  
“Oh, Vlad. I'm sorry.”

He was just taking his hand away from Vlad's head when the door clicked shut again behind him. He spun round to find a tall, imposing man standing there, watching him suspiciously.  
“What are you doing in my house?”  
“Sorry, Vlad bumped his head, and I- Ingrid sent me to get him out of the shop. I'm sorry, I didn't want to just leave him-”  
“If he bumped his head, why were you apologising? Did you do this?” Bertrand hung his head.  
“I was the one who made him jump. I didn't mean to. He hit his head on the side of one of the machines, and then he just sort of collapsed.” The man seemed to relax a little at that, shooing Bertrand aside so that he could inspect the damage himself, even going so far as to lift Vlad's eyelid and examine his eye that way.  
“Well, he should be fine. I can keep an eye on him now, if you want to be on your way.” Bertrand hesitated, on the verge of obeying.  
“Would you mind if I stayed for a bit, just until he wakes up? I'd like to be sure he's gonna be OK.”

The tall man gave him a calculating look.  
“Certainly, you can stay. You're not just a random customer who felt bad, are you? You know my son.”  
“Yeah, I suppose... I'm becoming a bit of a regular, I think. I'm Bertrand, Bertrand du Fortunesa.” He held out a hand for the older man to shake, hardly even surprised by the glimmer of recognition in his eyes.  
“Oh, the tutor Vlad's been talki- I mean, Vlad mentioned you'd been talking about tutoring? I'm _also_ Vladimir Count, by the way. The classic model.” Bertrand nodded.  
“Pleased to meet you. Yeah, I teach languages. French and Italian, mostly.”  
“Hmm. Are you taking on students at the moment?” Bertrand smiled ruefully.  
“Always. Why do you ask?” Mr Count made a thoughtful noise, but didn't answer, and they were both soon distracted by Vlad stirring.

His eyes opened, but they didn't seem to focus on anything for a few seconds. Then,  
“Dad? Where... what happened?”  
“You knocked yourself out, Vladdy, you fool. Had Bertrand and I worried.” The boy looked as if he was concentrating very hard on the words, until suddenly his gaze slid across to Bertrand and he smiled weakly.  
“You didn't have to look after me.”  
“'Course I did. You were cluttering the floor up. Besides, your sister would have killed me.” Vlad closed his eyes again.  
“She can be a bit scary. Would someone let her know I'm alright?”

Mr Count was looking at him expectantly, and Bertrand realised it was his cue.  
“I'll tell her. It was great to meet you, Mr Count, I'm a big fan of your shop. Vlad, feel better soon, yeah?” Then he let himself out quietly, leaving them to it.

“Well, how is he?” Ingrid asked as he passed the counter.  
“Awake. A bit groggy. Your dad's with him, he reckons he'll be fine. I'd keep an eye on him though.” Ingrid mumbled something that sounded a lot like 'I bet you would' and waved him away as she turned to the next customer.

Bertrand's next student got away with a lot more than she normally would have, her tutor's mind decidedly elsewhere.


	3. Sunshine

The next time Bertrand came into the shop, Vlad wasn't even working. Ingrid sent Will upstairs with the news.  
“Ingrid says _your hero_ is downstairs if you want to come and swoon.” He aimed a glare at the older boy, but Will just shrugged. Obviously he was just passing on the message.  
“Thanks, Will. I'm coming down.” He waited for him to leave before making a half-hearted attempt to sort his hair out and hurrying down to the shop.

Bertrand turned away from Ingrid the moment her brother reached the ground floor, and Vlad slipped past the counter to get them both out of her way. They settled at a table, Vlad belatedly realising that Bertrand was holding his coffee in a takeaway cup.  
“Sorry, you're probably in a hurry-”  
“No, just planning to make the most of the sunshine. How are you feeling?”  
“I'm alright... thanks to you. From what Ingrid said, you caught me before I even hit the floor.”  
“Anyone would have done the same thing.”  
“Well, they didn't. You did. So... thanks. And you stayed.” Bertrand smiled, and Vlad realised he was being embarrassing, thanking him so profusely for something the other man probably hadn't even thought about. 

The tutor took a sip of his coffee, then hesitated.  
“I don't have any classes today, I'm just going to go and sit in the park. Are you working today?” Vlad shook his head; Ingrid and Will had reallocated a lot of his shifts to themselves since his injury the day before. Even Malik had offered to take a few.  
“Would you mind if- no, don't worry, forget I said that-”  
“Would you like to come with me? I know it sounds a bit weird, but... it'd be nice to get to know you a bit, outside of the shop.” Vlad blinked at him for a moment, unsure if he was being serious, and then Ingrid called him to the counter.  
“Here's your ridiculous sugary thing, to go, now go with him, idiot. If he's stupid enough to want to hang out with you, make the most of it.” She pressed the cup into his hands, turned him around, and pushed him back towards where Bertrand was waiting. Well, he supposed he had no choice now.  
“Yeah, I'd like that.”

Vlad took a last sip of his coffee and eyed the nearest bin with a speculative air. Too far away to risk throwing the cup, he decided, and he was oddly reluctant to stand and walk over there with Bertrand stretched out beside him, his own cup drained and set down carefully at his side.  
“It's so nice to have some sun,” the tutor sighed, “when I was about five years old my parents and I spent a year in Spain, and when it was like this the locals called it a miserable day.” Vlad flopped down in the grass and squinted up at the blue sky.  
“When _I_ was five years old, we lived in the darkest, most depressing part of Transylvania. Dad fancied it, or something. We moved here when I was twelve.”  
“Ah. Vorbiţi româneşte?” Vlad stuck his tongue out.  
“Show-off. Yeah, a bit, but I haven't in years. It freaks Dad out, he had a fight with some of the neighbours before we left and things got pretty heated. So me and Ingrid, we don't any more. Just English. Maybe one day I'll pick it up again.” Bertrand nodded, looking chastened, and Vlad hurried to change the subject. “I always wanted to see the world. I was so excited when we came here. But I always wanted to see other places, too. Different places, not just Transylvania and Stokely and this place.”  
“Why don't you?” Bertrand had turned his head to the side in order to talk to him. Vlad glanced at him and smiled; his eyes were exactly the same shade of blue as the sky above them. Then the question registered and he turned to stare upwards once more.  
“I have a coffee shop to basically run, what more do I need?” Something touched his hand, just briefly, and he looked down at it expecting to find the dog who'd been playing fetch in the distance nosing around. Instead, he saw gentle, olive-skinned fingers brushing against his own, and as Bertrand moved his hand away he was smiling softly. Then he turned his gaze back to the sky again, as if he couldn't feel Vlad staring at him.  
“If you could go anywhere in the world, right now, where would you go?”

_Right now_ , Vlad thought, _I'd stay exactly where I am._ But he didn't say that, and he didn't reach for Bertrand's hand again, and he didn't ask if it was weird that his skin still tingled where the tutor had touched him, because none of that was even slightly appropriate. He wanted to be _friends_ with Bertrand, and scaring him off wouldn't help him do that. Friends, that was all. So he let the conversation turn to dream destinations and Bertrand's stories of a childhood on the move – he was vague on the personal details, but he described the locations in exquisite detail – and the moment passed unremarked.

When he arrived home that evening, he was grinning like an idiot, and Ingrid couldn't resist teasing him about it.  
“Oh my god, look at your face – did he kiss you? Is he a good sh-?”  
“No! Ingrid, no. We're just... I think we might be friends, now. And that's nice. It's not like I've got a surplus of people who want to hang out with me.”  
“Oh – actually, that reminds me. You had a phone call while you were out.”

* * *

Bertrand entered the coffee shop two days later with a spring in his step. He'd had a good afternoon in the sun with Vlad, they'd parted ways amicably, and Vlad hadn't seemed to object to his reassuring touch on the hand. Had he stopped to examine his emotions more closely, he probably would have realised that this was a disproportionately good mood to be in due to such tiny things, but he was too busy grinning to care. A full schedule of lessons had kept him away on the previous day, but now he was here, and he would get to see Vlad, and just make _absolutely sure_ that his head was alright.

He walked in and ordered his drink from Ingrid, surprised and relieved when she didn't immediately cause a scene in the process of summoning her little brother. The feeling soured as he turned away from her to find a table and noticed Vlad and another guy, sitting at the table in the corner Bertrand usually favoured, deep in intense discussion. Whatever they were talking about looked serious, and as he watched, Vlad reached out to place a hand on the other boy's shoulder. Through a brief lull in the cafe noise, a word reached Bertrand.  
“Later,” the boy said, and Vlad nodded easily, lowering his hand back to the table. The stranger patted it... and there was a tap on Bertrand's shoulder.

He turned to find himself face to face with the owner of the establishment.  
“Mr Count.”  
“Do you have a moment? Bring your coffee, by all means, but I wanted to ask you something.” He followed him behind the counter and up the stairs, turning right into what was obviously Mr Count's study, feeling for all the world like a child being sent to the headmaster's office. Was he about to be told off for trying to get too close to Vlad, who obviously had other interests? He hadn't meant to, he hadn't intended to push for any kind of romance or anything, he'd just wanted to be friends...

“My ex-partner, Vlad and Ingrid's mother, has another son,” Mr Count began abruptly, and Bertrand relaxed enough to take a sip of his coffee. This wasn't about Vlad, then. “He's six now, and his parents travel a lot, so he's coming to stay with his siblings for the summer. I wondered if you might be amenable to teaching him some French, just to keep him out of my way for an hour or so here and there. I'd pay whatever your usual rates are, of course, I'm not going to try to pay you in coffee or anything ludicrous like that.”  
“If he wants to learn, I'd be more than happy to teach him any language I can.” They discussed fees and rules and how often Bertrand's services would be required, and within fifteen minutes Bertrand had an empty coffee cup and a new pupil.  
“He arrives next week, so – well, I'm sure we'll see you before then? You could bring the paperwork here with you next time you visit.” Bertrand nodded absently, having just realised the time.  
“Of course, I'd be happy to. If you'll excuse me, though, I've got a lesson in twenty minutes across town-” Mr Count nodded his understanding, and Bertrand grabbed his coffee cup and left, with barely a nod to Ingrid as he went.

He didn't look at the corner table on his way out.


	4. Shark

Vlad hadn't seen Bertrand since that day at the park. It was a shame; he would have liked Robin to meet him, and he was only in town for a couple of days. Perhaps, though, it was for the best after all; Robin seemed preoccupied. He'd told him, yesterday, that he had something important to talk to Vlad about, and he'd looked so worried that Vlad had put a hand on his shoulder, afraid that something was terribly wrong. Robin had hesitated, as if preparing to speak, and then-  
“Later.” He'd forced a smile. “It's nothing bad, I promise. I'll tell you later.”

Now they were sitting in the coffee shop again, and Robin once more looked as if he was trying to gather his courage.  
“Whatever it is, Rob, you can tell me. But you don't have to, if you don't want to.” Robin was looking increasingly uncomfortable when Vlad, glancing towards the counter to give his friend some space, spotted Bertrand. “Oh, there's the new friend I was telling you about – can I get him over here?” Robin nodded, looking relieved, and Vlad cupped his hands to his mouth. “BERTRAND!” Well, that got the attention of the entire café, including Malik, who was behind the counter and actually working for once. Bertrand didn't look as pleased to see him as he'd hoped he would be, but he waved in return to Vlad's beckoning gesture and paused only for long enough to collect his coffee before making his way over.

“Robin, this is Bertrand. Bertrand, Robin.” Bertrand put his coffee down at the edge of the table and offered a hand for Robin to shake, but there was a sort of stiffness to him that Vlad didn't understand. He seemed somehow forced, as if he was playing a part. Perhaps he was nervous around new people – it had never seemed like it, but maybe Vlad was putting too much pressure on him by introducing him to his best friend. He gingerly put a hand on the older man's elbow to comfort him.

He wasn't sure it worked, but oddly enough _Robin_ seemed set at ease by the gesture.  
“Nice to meet you, Bertrand. Actually, I'm glad... I needed to tell Vlad something and I feel better about doing it now.” Robin let go of Bertrand's hand, leaving the tutor to look bewildered, and turned to Vlad. “I'm going out with Jonno. It's... it's going really well, actually, he makes me really happy, and I was a bit worried about telling you but I think you might understand pretty well.”  
“Jonno?” Vlad blinked. “...How did his mum take it?” Robin chuckled awkwardly.  
“I thought she might not approve, but she just got all emotional about how she hoped we appreciated how beautiful love is and how she hoped we'd never have to know how it felt to lose it, not for a long time...” Vlad grimaced.  
“Awkward. She's doing better, though, after Mr V...?”  
“Yeah. Yeah, she's alright. You... really aren't bothered?”  
“Why would I be? Jonno's a nice guy. I'll admit I didn't ever imagine he was gay, but then I never really thought about it. I'm happy for you.”

Bertrand was sipping his coffee quietly, simultaneously looking like a spare part and much happier than he'd been ever since he arrived. Robin noticed, and pulled him into a conversation which, if Vlad had been paying attention, he would have realised was mostly about him and his most embarrassing moments from high school. He wasn't paying attention, though, because Bertrand was laughing and that was oddly mesmerising. It wasn't until Robin addressed him directly that he snapped out of his reverie.  
“No, really, it's true – isn't it, Vlad?”  
“Hm?”  
“I was just telling Bertrand about the time you were captain of the rugby team and you made Price run laps for twenty minutes for taking the mickey.”  
“Oh – well, the second team. But yeah. Well, he shouldn't have insulted my mate.” Bertrand smiled, then glanced down at his watch and frowned.  
“I've got to run some paperwork up to your dad and then I've got a lesson. It was really good to meet you, Robin.” He disappeared behind the counter with a sheepish nod to Malik, and reappeared barely a minute later before rushing out the door. 

The two boys sat quietly for a moment.  
“Wow,” Robin managed at last, under his breath, “keep him.” Vlad went bright red.  
“I don't know what you mean.”  
“Come off it, mate, a blind man could tell you fancy him. Can't blame you, either. And I reckon he likes you, too-”  
“It's not like that. We're just... friends. We're barely that, he's just a customer I talk to a lot.” He glanced over towards the coffee makers, glad of the distraction as Malik yelled for Ingrid and wandered out from behind the counter, leaving her to rush in and take over the customers who'd just reached the front of the very small queue.

“Where are you off to?” Robin called out as Malik passed, and he stopped with a grin.  
“There's a music festival in town. Easy pickings!” Ingrid overheard and glared at him, calling over the customers' heads in unison with Vlad.  
“You're a pig, Malik.” He grinned and waved at her before turning back to his younger brother.  
“Maybe, but who cares as long as I get to roll in the mud with some hottie?” Vlad and Robin both grimaced, and Vlad waved his brother off.  
“Just... go.” He did, but his purpose was served; Robin didn't turn the conversation back to Bertrand for the rest of the day.

* * *

 

When Bertrand arrived at the Bean Counter the next morning, he found Malik smoking outside.  
“You're here, it's about time. Good. Right – Robin went home on the late train last night and now Vlad's trying to get back to work and stuff. Except we – everyone else who works here – think he needs more time off, 'cos of his head. You wouldn't happen to have any time free today to run interference, would you?” Bertrand smiled wearily.  
“It's my day off, so yeah. What did you have in mind?” Malik shrugged.  
“I don't know, he'll probably do almost anything if it means seeing you. _No taking advantage of that_ ,” he added, suddenly stern, then continued as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, “take him to the park again, a museum, hang out at our place, put him on a train and send him somewhere far away so he takes a few hours to get back. Really, anything. The longer you can keep him away from the shop, the better. You can _tell_ he's still not quite right, 'cos he wants to be _here_ all of a sudden. Although that might _also_ be your fault. Now, I've got to go, there's this really annoying girl I need to irritate before the music starts back up at the festival, so think you can handle that?” He clapped him on the shoulders. “Good man.” And he sauntered off, leaving a somewhat bewildered tutor to enter the coffee shop alone.

Sure enough, Vlad was behind the counter, trying to serve drinks while Ingrid lectured him about how stupid he was being.  
“You're not even supposed to be working this shift. You were _never_ supposed to be working this shift, why are you here?” The bickering continued as Bertrand worked his way up a short queue, gathering his courage, until finally he was at the counter.  
“Hi. I'll have a white tea, one of whatever Vlad wants even if it _is_ that bizarre sugary thing he likes, and a Vlad, all to go, please.” Ingrid smirked and rang up the drinks before Vlad could intervene, taking Bertrand's money and marking off the spaces on his loyalty card for him.  
“What the customer wants, Vlad. Go on, run along.” Vlad grumbled for about half a minute, made a token protest about being bought, and slouched around to the front of the counter the moment he was handed his drink. Bertrand flinched as he heard that, taking his own drink and heading outside with his friend.

“I'm sorry, you... you know I was kidding, right? I'd never try to buy you, or your time. I just... I thought it would be a clever way to ask you to come with m-”  
“It's fine, Bertrand. Come on, I was just winding Ingrid up, I know you can't buy people.”  
“You can,” Bertrand corrected quietly, and then, louder, “how do you feel about aquariums?” Vlad frowned, but thankfully let the strange moment pass.  
“I... in what context? Fish are fun to watch.”  
“In the context that the aquarium in town is stupidly expensive to get into unless you happen to have single-handedly got the owner's daughter through three language GCSEs. Want to go?” Vlad blinked at him.  
“There's an _aquarium_ in town?” Bertrand nodded, grinning. “Yeah, I'd – really? We can?”  
“Of course. Someone's got to keep your mind off your headache, after all. What better than fish?”

Before he knew what was happening, he was being _hugged_. Vlad let go of him quickly and grinned as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.  
“Which way? Can we go now?” Bertrand stood for a moment, his mind racing to catch up.  
“Oh. Yes. This way, come on, it's actually not that far...”

The owner let them in, just as he'd hoped, and Bertrand watched as Vlad moved from tank to tank, until he caught sight of a child ten years his junior who wasn't nearly as excited. His face fell and he began to walk sedately back to where Bertrand stood at the first tank. He seemed subdued, and it didn't suit him. Bertrand was determined to fix that. With a hand on his shoulder, he steered Vlad into position right in front of him and bent his head slightly so their eyelines were level. After a moment's searching, he pointed.  
“There! That one's my favourite.”

Vlad stood stock-still for a moment, then frowned – Bertrand could see his reflection in the glass – and began to squint.  
“I can't see what you're-” The fish moved, just then, and what had looked like a slight protrusion in a bit of rock became, for a moment, a ripple of shimmering scales and glints of colour. Then it stopped again, and blended once more into the background. “Wow.” Bertrand chuckled.  
“I used to come in here a lot, once I realised I really could have the run of the place. The way they move calms me down when I'm stressed.” Vlad pulled his eyes away from the tank and craned his neck round to look at Bertrand.  
“I didn't see that one when I was rushing about. If you hadn't shown me, I'd never have seen...”  
“Sometimes,” Bertrand shrugged, “it doesn't hurt to stay in one place for a while. Come on, show me your favourites.” He followed Vlad, this time, as he moved off at a vaguely more sensible place, but with renewed bounce. He wasn't too worried about the boy calming down – when they reached the next room he was definitely going to get really excited again.

“Oh my g- this feels really, _really_ weird- is that a turtle? Look, Bertrand, an octopus! That's so _weird_ , it's like it's wearing that shell as a hat... Is that a _shark_?” It was, indeed, a shark, gliding over the top of the large, clear tunnel they were standing in.  
“There's a bigger one over there,” he told him, and pointed, manfully resisting the urge to laugh at Vlad's wide eyes as he took in the sight of the various sea creatures that surrounded them. “See?” The shark turned, as if it knew it was being watched, and began swimming purposefully towards them. Vlad took a step back, as if his instincts were telling him a predator was approaching, and grabbed at Bertrand's sleeve.   
“I don't think it likes us.”  
“It can't hurt us, Vlad, it can't get to us. Do you want to move?” Vlad blushed, but nodded anyway, and Bertrand disentangled his sleeve from the younger man's grip only to wrap a protective arm around him, shifting to position his body between him and the shark, and shepherded him along the tunnel a little to look at some starfish.

“Are you alright?” He asked after a minute or so, as Vlad's breathing evened out a little.  
“'S stupid. Even the little kids weren't scared of it.” Bertrand patted him gently on the back and let him go.  
“It's not stupid at all. If it helps at all, sharks don't actually like the taste of human very much. But if you're done with the tunnel for a while, we can go onto the next room and maybe come back to look at all the other things in here when you feel better?” Vlad frowned at him.  
“You're really not going to laugh at me?” He shook his head.  
“I'm really not. What I _am_ going to do is make ridiculous cooing noises over baby seahorses, so if anyone's laughing it'll be you.”  
“ _Baby seahorses?_ ”

It wasn't until closing time that Bertrand reluctantly dragged a protesting Vlad away from the manta rays and said his goodbyes to the aquarium's owner. The woman smiled warmly at Vlad as he tried to settle on one fish to tell her he'd liked, and leant in.  
“Don't tell Bertrand, because he worked very hard to get free entry here, but since you're his friend and you liked it so much, you can come in free too, even when you're not with Bertrand.” Vlad grinned, then shook his head.  
“You'll put yourself out of business if you let all Bertrand's friends in free without him. I'll bring him back with me.” He faltered. “I mean... if he wants?” Bertrand grinned right back at him.  
“I'll bring you back any time you like. Come on, let's get you home.”

* * *

 

Vlad was aware that he'd acted like a child the previous day. He knew that. But he'd never been to an aquarium before and it had been _exciting_ – except the bit when the shark came straight at them. _That_ had sent a shiver of cold dread down his spine. Bertrand, though, hadn't laughed at him, hadn't even objected when he'd grabbed at his arm; he'd just put an arm around him and made him feel safe again. That had made him shiver for an entirely different reason.

He was arguing with Will about whether he should be allowed to work his shift when the café door opened and his mother breezed in, kid in tow.  
“Wolfie, darling, you remember your brother Vlad, don't you?” He should, Vlad thought irritably, they'd had him to stay for both the Easter holiday _and_ most of the Christmas one. The little boy nodded, clinging to his toy wolf, as Magda swept in to give Vlad a continental air-kiss on each cheek.  
“Do you want to say hi to Ingrid before you go, Mum? I could make you a coffee-”  
“No need, _darling_ , I've got to meet the jet at the airport in an hour and you know how Patrick fusses if he thinks we're going to be late. I keep telling him it's fashionable, but... Anyway, I have an assistant to deal with Ingrid for me. Behave yourself now, Wolfie dear. Ciao!” And she was gone, leaving Wolfie standing next to a case roughly the size of his own body – though that hadn't stopped him from carrying it in himself – and two somewhat bemused baristas behind the counter.

About thirty seconds after the door closed, the rest of the family appeared at the bottom of the stairs.  
“Has that harpy gone?” That was his father, watching as Ingrid scooped her little brother into her arms and admonished him fondly for growing again. Malik simply slouched against the wall and waited his turn. Vlad loved his family, he loved his little brother to bits, but this was all a little overwhelming and they were being very loud. He made his way towards the door for some fresh air, waving off Will's query.

He ran straight into Bertrand.

“Woah, where's the fire?” He must have looked more flustered then he realised, because the next thing he knew Bertrand was peering at him anxiously and grabbing his arms to pull him out of the way of a stream of passing schoolchildren. “Are you alright?”  
“My mum was just here. Always a bit of a shock to the system.” He managed to smile, like it didn't hurt to see her abandon Wolfie almost as much as it hurt to see her always take him back, though she seemed to have no interest in her two older children. Bertrand didn't seem to be buying it, but he let it pass.  
“Dropping your little brother off?” Vlad nodded, then realised what he'd said.  
“How did you know that? I don't think I told-”  
“Your dad wants me to give him some lessons, keep him busy. Do you think he'll be interested?” Vlad considered it for a moment.  
“I reckon so. Expect to talk about wolves a lot, though. He's obsessed with them. That's why we call him Wolfie.”  
“I thought his name was-”  
“Yeah, nobody calls him by his real name. Come in, I'll introduce you.” Somehow, with Bertrand hot on his heels, the coffee shop full of relatives didn't seem so hard to face.

“Bertrand, this is Wolfie – I think you know everyone else, except maybe Will?”  
“We've met,” Will interjected, and Vlad shrugged before carrying on.  
“And Wolfie, this is Bertrand.” Wolfie gazed up at the new acquaintance with those big, dark, soulful eyes of his. Bertrand smiled down at him, and the big, dark, soulful eyes turned towards Vlad, which usually meant trouble.  
“Is he your boyfriend?” Vlad let out a short bark of nervous laughter, but Bertrand wasn't laughing – what if he'd taken offence?  
“No, Wolfie, he's a friend of mine. He teaches languages to kids sometimes-”  
“Can you speak wolf?” Bertrand shook his head sadly, crouching to speak to Wolfie from a more equal position.  
“Only a very little bit, I'm afraid. I can _say_ wolf, in lots of different languages, but I speak better dog than wolf.”

Wolfie's eyes widened, and then it seemed he had another idea.  
“There's a special type of Eurasian wolf that mostly lives in Italy. Can you speak Italian?” Bertrand smiled broadly.  
“Yes, I can. My family are from Italy. You know a lot about wolves, don't you?” Vlad could see the admiration in the tutor's eyes; at six years old, most kids probably wouldn't be able to _pronounce_ the word 'Eurasian', let alone rattle off information about a specific subspecies. Wolfie nodded.  
“I want to study them one day. In Italy, maybe. Would you teach _me_ how to talk in Italian?”

Bertrand glanced towards Vlad's father, then turned back to the little boy.  
“If Mr Count says it's OK, then I'd be very pleased to teach you. Would you teach me a bit about wolves?” Wolfie nodded, beaming.  
“And then you can tell me how to say about wolves in Italian! Oh, can I, Uncle Count?” Vlad laughed as his father grimaced at the nickname; he didn't know where Wolfie had got it from, but it had stuck.  
“If Bertrand will teach you and it keeps you out from under my feet, I don't see why not.” Wolfie grinned and held out his hand for Bertrand to shake.  
“Deal?”  
“Deal,” Bertrand agreed, solemnly shaking the proffered hand.  
“Can we start right away?” Bertrand glanced at his watch.  
“How about you go and spend some time with your family and get settled, and I'll get a coffee, and then we'll see?” His Dad was nodding approvingly; Vlad leapt towards the counter.  
“I'll make it!”

His family headed upstairs, en masse, and Will tactfully decided to wipe down a few tables before the lunchtime rush hit.  
“You don't have to start right away,” he told Bertrand as soon as he'd taken his order, “I know he's hard to say no to, but-”  
“I've got an hour and a half to spare before my next class,” Bertrand assured him, “and I rarely see a kid so keen to learn. Seems a shame to waste that enthusiasm.”  
“If you're sure,” he conceded, squashing the irrational feeling in his stomach that couldn't possibly be jealousy. “Thanks, by the way. For yesterday. I had a great time.” That raised another of those breathtaking smiles.  
“You said that a couple of times.”  
“Well, I'm saying it again.” He wanted to say something else – he just hadn't quite worked out what yet – but his dad appeared at the bottom of the stairs and beckoned imperiously.  
“Got your coffee? He won't talk about anything else.” Bertrand grinned, touching Vlad's elbow by way of goodbye as he passed. 

Will took one look at him on his return from mopping the floors and let out a low whistle.  
“Wow. You _have_ got it bad.” Vlad scowled at him.  
“No, I haven't.” Deep down, he was beginning to think that wasn't true at all.


	5. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for this chapter... Trigger warning for slavery/child trafficking (past)

Bertrand's lesson with Wolfie had gone well, but then he'd had solid classes for two days, all on the wrong side of town to stop in at the Bean Counter. By the time, three days later, he finally made it back there, he was humming with a nervous energy he couldn't explain, like he'd resolved to do something far more daring than what he actually _was_ here to do, which was predominantly to order coffee. He was forced to delay his plans, however, as he found Malik outside once again, smoking and scowling at passersby. Glancing down, Bertrand couldn't help but notice a small circle of cigarette butts at his feet.

“Are you alright, Malik?” The boy huffed.  
“I'm fine. Just... the festival ends tonight and all the hippie girls'll be going home.” Bertrand frowned at him.  
“Then shouldn't you be there making the most of it?” Malik dropped his cigarette butt, crushed it with his boot, and lit another, glaring all the while.  
“You're not allowed to laugh, or tell anyone.” Bertrand simply frowned slightly, and waited. “I've been going up there for one girl, just one, and she left this morning.”  
“Oh.” He thought for a moment. “Do you like her?”  
“No, I've been crawling into a muddy tent every night for almost a week for _hate_ sex.” He spat it with all the sarcasm he seemed able to muster, then slumped. “Actually, that does sound like me. But Erin, she's... different, somehow. Annoying. Under my skin.” He ran a hand through his hair, cigarette apparently forgotten, dangling loosely from his other hand. “She told me to call her.” Bertrand stared at him for a moment, then clapped him on the shoulder.  
“Then I think you should. I'll leave you to it.”

He entered the shop and was relieved to spot Vlad at the counter. By the time he reached the front of the queue, he'd almost convinced himself this was a good idea. Vlad beamed at him.  
“Hey, stranger. What can I get you?” He experienced a terrifying moment of doubt and glanced backwards... only to see Malik outside the window, tentatively placing his mobile phone to his ear. He turned back to the barista with renewed determination.  
“Remember the day we met?” Vlad nodded curiously, obviously wondering where this was going. “I, um...” This had sounded much less cheesy in his head, in the queue... “I realised I never took you up on your recommendation, and I'd like to, now. Both of them.” He handed over his fully-stamped loyalty card, and Vlad took it, looking bewildered.  
“I only recommended one drink... I mean, coming up, but... both?”  
“Turn the card over, Vlad.” He knew he was blushing furiously, now, which was just making this even more humiliating. Vlad did as he was told, turning the card over in his hands and reading the eleven digits Bertrand had just written on the back. There was a horrible moment in which he didn't react at all and Bertrand wished the ground would just swallow him up, and then Vlad smiled.  
“Malik's recommendation, technically. But thank you for this.” He pocketed it cheerfully and turned away to make his ludicrous sugary coffee concoction. Although there didn't seem to be much coffee _in_ it, from what Bertrand could see of its preparation.

Vlad, to his surprise, beckoned Will over from where he'd been wiping down a table the moment he'd handed Bertrand his drink, and followed him to an empty table.  
“I get company while I drink?” Vlad nodded.  
“I want to see what you think of it.” With some trepidation, Bertrand obediently raised his cup in salute and took a sip. He managed to swallow, but just barely, the sweetness enough to make his eyes water. “You don't like it?” Vlad was asking, so he knew he must be grimacing, but he couldn't make his face cooperate for a good few seconds. Vlad pressed another cup into his hands and he realised it was a strong, black coffee, which took some of the edge off.  
“No,” he managed after a few sips, “no, it was just... how do you still even have _teeth_?” Vlad rolled his eyes.  
“It's actually not got _that_ much sugar in it...”  
“I just tasted it, Vlad, it definitely has.” He took another sip anyway, just to prove he could, then offered the cup to Vlad, who took a sip himself.  
“Ew, now I probably have Bertrand-germs.” He grinned, as if to make sure Bertrand knew he didn't mean it, and then the expression softened into something else Bertrand couldn't quite read. “And a Bertrand-number.”  
“Yes.” He wanted to ask if he could expect a Vlad-number in return, but he didn't want to turn it into a bigger deal than it was. Instead, he squeezed his shoulder and headed back towards the counter to buy a bottle of water before his next tutoring session. When he glanced back on the way out, Vlad was watching him go.

* * *

 

The next morning, Vlad sat up in his bed and reached for his phone before he'd even really opened his eyes. He'd spent about an hour sitting, staring at it, the previous evening, aware that he should probably send Bertrand a message of some sort so that he had his number too, but completely unable to decide what that message should say. He'd fallen asleep before he'd actually settled on anything. Now, in that hazy moment right after waking when all decisions seem like good decisions, he tapped out a few words and pressed 'send'.  
 _-Hi. It's Vlad. Coffee today?  
_ _-Good morning. Always coffee. No sugar though.  
_ He smiled at the swiftness of the reply and tapped out another message.  
 _-Any time spare to hang out afterwards?_

Pulling on a fresh set of clothes was a distraction of sorts, enough to stop him watching the phone and restrict him to stealing glances at it every few seconds. Still, when it signalled that a new message had been received, he all but leapt on it.  
 _-The triplets have chickenpox; my afternoon is yours if you want it.  
_ Vlad took a moment just to appreciate the fact that Bertrand was possibly the only person in the world who would use a semicolon in a text - outside of an emoticon - then realised he was grinning at his phone again and scrambled to reply.  
 _-Poor triplets. See you soon._

It didn't feel like soon at all; he switched shifts with Ingrid, who'd been on the rota for this morning but had told them all in no uncertain terms the night before that the body of anyone who tried to wake her before ten would never be found, and the Bean Counter had never seemed so dull, empty and boring. He tried to amuse himself by teaching Wolfie how to draw shapes in the froth on the tops of cappucinos, but there were really only so many he could drink himself or press upon his family – he let Wolfie do a hot chocolate and drink that himself, because the last thing they needed was a highly-caffeinated Wolfie under their feet – so at last he resorted to sitting with him and making decorated paper planes out of napkins instead. They didn't fly, but with a bit of attention from Wolfie's trusty felt tips they looked fantastic.

“Is Bertrand coming today?” Wolfie asked, without looking up from the napkin he was doodling on.  
“Um. Yes. I think so, later.” The boy poked his tongue out from the corner of his mouth, concentrating on his design.  
“Does that mean I have to have a lesson? I liked the last one, but Malik said he'd take me to the park to play football and I really want to go.” He smiled down at his little brother; it was rare for Malik to make an effort with the boy he wasn't even technically related to, so this was a special treat.  
“Don't worry, Wolfie. I'll distract Bertrand so you can go and play.”  
“Promises, promises.”

Vlad looked up, startled, before he realised it was Malik who'd spoken and not his favourite customer, as he'd briefly feared.  
“You're a pig, Malik.” That just got him a smirk.  
“So I'm told. Anyway, when's loverboy arriving?” Vlad glanced down at his watch. Ten past twelve.  
“I don't know. The afternoon some time.” Belatedly, he realised what he'd said. “And he's _not_ my- we're not- shut up, Malik. Wolfie, why don't you tell Malik what you've learnt this morning?” Wolfie did, babbling away as Malik continued to pull faces at Vlad, and then the door opened.

“You've been busier,” Bertrand observed wryly, making his way straight to the counter. “Hi, Wolfie, what are you up to?” Wolfie went all wide-eyed and shy and started whispering into Vlad's ear.  
“Oh, don't tell me _you_ fancy him too-”  
“Would you like a cappuccino, Bertrand? Wolfie's decorating them.” Vlad translated loudly, hoping against all hope that Bertrand hadn't heard Malik's muttered aside.  
“I'd love one, thanks.” Malik was whispering to Wolfie now, but at least that was quiet. He handed Wolfie the drink and the plastic stirrer to draw with, then took it back and passed it over to Bertrand without even glancing at it. This, he realised, as Bertrand blushed and Malik burst out laughing, was a mistake.  
“What did they do?” He leant over the counter to peer into the cup, aware of how close he had to get to Bertrand in the process, and realised that Wolfie had drawn a little heart and, inside it, written _'V + B'_. He turned to his little brother, blushing furiously, and Wolfie's proud smile faltered as he glanced at Malik for backup.  
“Did I write it wrong?” Vlad took a moment to collect himself, then shook his head.  
“No, it was very neat. Now Malik's going to take you to the park before I kill him, and while you're upstairs getting the football you're going to remind Ingrid that her shift started twenty minutes ago. Alright?” It was amazing how fast those two could move when they wanted to.

As the cafe door swung shut behind them and Ingrid arrived to take over the coffee shop-  
“Oh, yeah, it's really busy, Vlad, good thing you called or we'd have been overrun,” - the two young men stood in awkward silence, Bertrand draining his coffee as swiftly as humanly possible, destroying Wolfie's embarrassing artwork. The moment he'd put his cup down, Vlad spoke before he could get chance.  
“Let's go.” He made for the door, and Bertrand followed in his wake, passing Ingrid some money for his drink as he did.  
“Where?” Bertrand asked once they'd reached the pavement and were striding along. “Malik's at the park, and you don't want to see him-”  
“Can we go to your house?” He wondered, for a moment, if he'd crossed a line, but Bertrand simply paused for a moment before taking his arm and turning them around to go in the other direction.  
“If you like. It's not much, but it's home.”  
“And it's Malik-free,” Vlad pointed out.  
“I've often been told that's one of its big selling points,” Bertrand agreed lightly, “and it's only ten minutes' walk from this brilliant little coffee shop.”  
“Yeah?” They walked past it again as he spoke. “What's so good about it?”  
“Well, there's this barista there,” Bertrand began, but then he seemed to change his mind about what he was saying. “Apparently, set to take over the whole place. He does a really good job, even with his entire family hanging over his shoulder winding him up all the time.” Vlad blushed again at the memory of today's fiasco.  
“What about your family? Do they wind you up?” Bertrand shrugged, but the movement looked forced.  
“We don't talk.”  
“Oh.”

They arrived at Bertrand's door in silence; it seemed as if Bertrand had been struggling with something more he wanted to say for the last few minutes, but as yet he hadn't actually said it. Instead, he let them into his little flat.  
“It's not very exciting, but make yourself at home.” He gestured to the sofa and Vlad settled on it. “Would you like a cup of tea?”  
“No, thanks. I had three cappuccinos this morning while Wolfie was learning to draw on them. I swear I didn't teach him to do that, though, I was teaching him stars and cats and-”  
“It's alright.” Bertrand came to sit beside him, and that strange weight of something not being said settled over them again.

“Bertrand? I'm sorry I asked about your family. I didn't mean to upset-”  
“Can I tell you something?” Bertrand asked, abruptly, and Vlad nodded, bewildered. “It's not a nice thing.”  
“You can tell me anything, Bertrand, we're friends.”  
“My family sold me when I was six,” he blurted, and Vlad's world stopped turning. 

* * *

 

Vlad's face had gone completely white, and Bertrand could see him trying to process this new discovery, and he didn't know what to do with himself, but he couldn't bear to look at his friend and know that _he'd_ made him look so horrified. He got up, instead, and made two cups of tea after all. He chose peppermint tea, hoping it would be less harsh on Vlad's already overcaffeinated system, and set a steaming cup in front of Vlad just in time for him to speak at last, voice weak.

“...Sold you?” He nodded, setting his own tea down and joining him on the sofa.  
“That's why I travelled so much. First, my parents were always running from their debts, and then when they got really desperate, they sold the most valuable thing they could think of.” He chuckled weakly. “I suppose I should be flattered.”  
“ _Don't_ ,” Vlad managed, “don't try to laugh this off for me.”  
“I'm not. I'm laughing for me. It's how I cope with talking about it. My counsellor hated it.” He took a deep breath. “But... yeah. They told me I was going away to school. I was so excited for that. I loved learning, even then. But I ended up smuggled across borders and passed from owner to owner. Romania, Russia, Estonia, Hungary, Germany, Austria, then Ukraine, Turkey... back to Spain, for a little while, and then we were found on the beach when we arrived in the UK- sorry. You probably don't want to hear-”  
“ _Bertrand_. I... I had no idea, I'm so sorry. Did they... were you... did they treat you OK? Is that a stupid question?”

He hesitated, wondering if he should just admit that he knew what the other man was really thinking. What each new social worker had always really been thinking.  
“I was a worker, Vlad, in factories and timber yards and sweatshops. In Ukraine they had us beg on the streets because we were cute and people would give us money. They slipped up in Spain doing the same thing. I... was one of the lucky ones, I never... they didn't _touch_ me, if that's what you're asking. I was never sold in that way.” He was surprised to feel fingers entwining with his own as Vlad looked up at him.  
“But they made you work- how long-?”  
“That's how I learnt so many languages,” he continued, suddenly desperate just to get it all out, to make Vlad understand what kind of a man he had taken as a friend, “you learnt to understand orders or you got beaten harder. And then when I was thirteen... I was sold to a man in Spain and he only spoke Spanish, and a bit of French I think, I'm not sure. We were sent out on the streets, to beg, and there was a group of Russian tourists. I told them everything, and he beat me for speaking in Russian but they gave me money so he thought I'd just been begging in their language. I told them some of us were being sold soon. The men who smuggled us were careless, they thought we didn't hear- I knew, I told the tourists where the boat was going and begged them to help us. They must have told someone, because when we landed there were police.”

He fell silent, uncomfortably aware that Vlad hadn't even moved in a while, much less spoken. “Are... you OK?”  
“Am _I_ OK?” Vlad sounded faintly hysterical. “You spent... what, seven _years_ as a _slave_ and you're asking me if _I'm_ OK?” He flinched at the word 'slave' – it was accurate, but it made it worse, somehow, to hear it – and found himself pulling Vlad into a sideways, sitting-on-the-sofa hug.  
“It was years ago, Vlad, half a lifetime, and when they arrested the people who'd brought us here... they didn't know where to send us back to, we were put in foster homes and given counselling and an education and now here I am, teaching other kids languages I learnt on the way. I promise you, Vlad, I wouldn't recommend it to anyone but I survived. I just... I wanted you to know. That's why I don't talk to my family, I don't think I would even if I knew where they were.”

Vlad turned to face him, pulling away from the hug.  
“So we're sharing secrets?” Bertrand nodded.  
“I suppose so, if you like.”  
“I don't really have any. Not big ones like that. Malik's got all sorts of stories to tell, but me... I...”  
“You don't have t-”  
“I wanted to go travelling,” he blurted, “but Dad wanted me to run the shop and I hated it. And I still want to go travelling, but... I designed the whole shop and I made it work and until Starbucks moved in up the road we were doing really well, and I don't hate it as much as I thought I would. I kind of like it, and I'm proud of it, and I don't want to run off travelling now and risk Dad giving it to someone else. It's not much of a secret... but it's my secret, and I've never told anyone.” Bertrand frowned.  
“Why tell _me_?” Vlad shook his head.  
“That's another secret.”

They sipped tea in silence for a few minutes, and then Vlad spoke again.  
“I'm glad Malik changed my sign, even if...” Bertrand braced himself for the inevitable; _even if it brought me a former slave as a friend_.  
“Even if...?” He asked anyway, and Vlad sighed.  
“I think he was hoping another gay guy would talk to me. You know. So we could date, or whatever. But I'm glad I met you.” Bertrand frowned.  
“And I'm different because...?”  
“Well, 'cos you're not gay.” He faltered, apparently noticing how Bertrand's expression had changed to one of amusement. “Or... you don't fancy _me_ , anyway.”  
“Are you sure you don't mean _you_ don't fancy _me_?” Vlad stared at him awkwardly for a moment, then his gaze dropped down and to the side and Bertrand still didn't understand what was going on.  
“Let's just... let's not ruin things, Bertrand, I'm not going to ask you to-”

It wasn't until his lips brushed across Vlad's that Bertrand even realised he'd been the one to move closer and lean in. He pulled away, eyes wide, and realised Vlad was looking just as startled in return. Oh, god. He'd misread the situation, and now-

Now Vlad was scrambling to his feet, rushing towards the door.  
“Oh god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- you didn't have to- I didn't want, I've got to- bye.” Then he was gone.

Bertrand sat alone on his sofa and finally allowed himself to take a deep, shuddering breath that turned into a sob.


	6. Schemes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Mygayshoes for your comment - here's the next chapter nice and fast for you. (Or, well, it was, but I saved it as a draft, like an idiot.)

Vlad was behind the counter, wishing he was somewhere else, when Ingrid and Malik appeared on either side of him.  
“Want to explain what happened last night?”  
“No.” She'd seen him, of course, coming in and going straight to his room. He could only hope she hadn't seen-  
“You were crying.”  
“Just hayfever-”  
“Right,” Malik cut in, “so if we tell you Bertrand's due to come in in about half an hour for Wolfie's Italian lesson, that won't bother you at all?”  
“Not at all.” His voice wobbled.  
“And you won't be taking your fifteen minute break in, say, twenty minutes' time?”  
“I...” He had him there. “It'd be a coincidence.”  
“Rubbish,” Ingrid said, and waited while he served a customer. “So what happened yesterday?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”  
“Tough. You're going to.” Malik was between him and the stairs, he realised suddenly, and Ingrid was neatly blocking the gap in the counter. They'd _planned_ this. “Was he really awful about it? He doesn't seem the type.”  
“About... what?”  
“Well, come on,” Malik continued, “you're fooling nobody. You asked him out, didn't you? And he knocked you back. Did he say you couldn't be friends any more?”  
“I didn't- he didn't- I didn't ask him out.” Ingrid looked appalled.  
“You didn't just throw yourself at him and go straight in for a kiss, did you?”  
“ _He_ kissed _me_!” And then it was out, and there was no taking it back. “...He kissed me,” he mumbled again.

The silence was suspicious, and he looked round to find his older siblings exchanging bewildered looks. Malik, of course, never could let a silence hang for long.  
“Was he really bad at it, or something?” He buried his head in his hands.  
“No! I mean, he _barely_ kissed me, but- I wanted him to keep- but he doesn't feel that way about me.”  
“He told you this?” The sharp tone in Ingrid's voice warned him that if he didn't correct her, Bertrand would be dead before he could reach the counter.  
“No, he... We were just talking, and I said I was glad he read the sign even though he doesn't fancy me, and he said I didn't fancy _him_ , but... like a question, and I said I didn't want to answer because it'd make things weird, and... and he kissed me. But I don't want him to kiss me just because he thinks that's what I- oh god that's him, I'll be back when he leaves.” He dived upstairs and into his own room, listening to hear the living room door close and tell him it was safe to return to his post.

* * *

Bertrand walked into the Bean Counter just in time to see Vlad disappear and his older siblings exchange significant looks. This was exactly why he'd got here early; so he could sort things out with Vlad, or – and he'd known this was more likely – face the wrath of Malik and Ingrid, without cutting into Wolfie's learning time.

“Just not the face, I don't want to scare the kid,” he asked them as he reached the counter, cursing the emptiness of the café around them. Witnesses would have been helpful to keep things vaguely civil, or at least, well... a bit more _safe_.  
“We're not going to hit you,” Ingrid told him, with a warning look at Malik, “just tell us what on earth happened with you and Vlad.”  
“I'm so sorry,” he began, “I really thought... it was stupid, I thought he... I didn't mean to upset him, if I'd known he didn't – well, of course he didn't, I don't know why I – I thought he wanted me to.”  
“That's what he said,” Malik nodded, “you thought he wanted you to.”  
“Is that the only reason?” Ingrid was regarding him thoughtfully. “Or did _you_ want to, and you thought he wouldn't mind?” Put like that, it did sound awful, but he couldn't deny it.  
“I wanted to kiss him. I've... I'm very fond of him. But I'd rather we be friends than- I didn't want this to get all awkward, I swear I wouldn't have done it if I thought-”  
“Shut up, Bertrand. Malik, a word?” They walked away from him, to the other side of the café, leaving him to hover awkwardly by the counter and hope no customers came in.

After five minutes' animated discussion, they were back.  
“Alright, it's your lucky day, we've decided not to brutally murder you after all. You should talk to Vlad, though.” Bertrand looked forlornly in the direction of the stairs.  
“I think it's pretty clear he doesn't want to talk to me. I'm not going to push my luck with him again. He has my number. Excuse me, I have to go and teach Wolfie Italian and behave like a functioning human being for an hour.”  
“Dad wants to see you afterwards, about Wolfie's lessons.” Malik looked at her sideways, but Bertrand just nodded obediently. “He'll be on the roof, since it's a nice day. Just follow the stairs all the way up.”

“Thanks, Ingrid.”

Honestly, he just wanted to get the lesson over with so he could go home and try to pretend he hadn't messed it all up. Poor Wolfie probably didn't get Bertrand's usual level of excellence, but at least he could teach Italian in his sleep. He more or less coasted through and then dragged himself reluctantly up the stairs to sort out whatever it was Mr Count wanted to see him about. When he reached the top, though, and pushed open the door onto the roof terrace, there was nobody there. He glanced up; heavy grey stormclouds were looming, so perhaps Vlad's father was waiting in his office instead. As he turned, though, the door opened again and a figure stumbled through.  
“You don't have to push, I'm-” The door slammed as Vlad met his eyes and realised he'd been tricked. “Ingrid, let me back in.”  
“No. You two are going to stop being pathetic and talk, or you'll have to cuddle up to stay warm tonight.” They could hear her muttering about _idiot boys_ all the way down the stairs. Vlad tried the door, but to no avail.  
“Locked,” he muttered, and slumped down against it. Bertrand perched on the low wall that ran around the edge of the terrace and sighed heavily.

“For what it's worth,” he said after a minute of silence, “I'm sorry for kissing you. I misread the situation.”  
“I'm sorry for making you think I wanted you to,” Vlad ventured after another couple of minutes. Bertrand was about to argue that that wasn't his fault when the heavens opened. “INGRID!” Vlad started pounding on the door, but his cries went unanswered. Eventually he gave up and turned back to Bertrand, shivering. “I'm sorry about this. We could go down the fire escape, but they'll have locked the shop up by now and my keys are in my jacket, on my bed.” Bertrand didn't even hesitate.  
“We'll go down the fire escape and run back to my place, then. I know you probably don't want to be there right now, but it's warm and dr-”  
“Yes. Oh god, yes please.” He was swinging a leg over the wall and lowering a ladder before Bertrand could really process his acceptance. “Come on, then!”

It had been a silent, sodden stumble back to Bertrand's flat, but the moment they'd got inside and flicked the lights on Bertrand had rooted out towels and thrown one at Vlad's head so he could dry his hair.  
“Do you want- I probably don't have any trousers you could borrow but do you want a dry shirt or something?” He shook his head, and Bertrand decided it would be rude to change if his guest wouldn't. “Cup of tea, then?”  
“Anything hot.” He managed to stall the inevitable for a good few minutes, pottering around his little kitchenette, calling out to check how much milk and sugar – lots of sugar, of course lots of sugar – to add until, at last, he had to face the music, pick up the two cups and set them down on the little table in front of the sofa. For the first time ever, he wished there was somewhere else to sit; they were now sitting exactly where they'd been the day before, only tonight Vlad's wet t-shirt was clinging in a way that was hard to ignore. He managed to buy a little more time by pulling a large, warm blanket out of a cupboard and draping it over his friend. He just hoped Vlad hadn't noticed the parallels.

“Last time we sat here like this, you kissed me.” _Damn._

* * *

Bertrand was hanging his head, looking ashamed of himself, but Vlad couldn't quite resist asking the question that had been playing on his mind all afternoon.  
“... _Why_ did you kiss me?”  
“Because I wanted to. I'm sorry, I wish I had some noble reason, but... I've been falling for you since the moment I met you. But I'm glad we're friends, and I'd really like to _still_ be friends, I know you don't feel-” Vlad's brain had stopped working a few words back.  
“Say that again? The... middley bit?”  
“I'm glad we're-?”  
“Before that.” Bertrand grimaced, but obediently repeated himself, blushing furiously.  
“I've been falling for you si-”

He didn't get any further, which, Vlad realised, was because Vlad's hand was shaking against his cheek and his lips were dangerously close to Bertrand's own.  
“I thought you didn't want me,” he whispered, hardly daring to believe Bertrand would contradict him.  
“I'm not the one who ran,” Bertrand admonished quietly, but there was a softness to his voice, and something that almost sounded like hope. Vlad took a deep breath to steady himself and then, as briefly as Bertrand had the day before, brushed their lips together. This time, though, as he moved away, Bertrand came with him, a soft wanting sound escaping his lips before they found Vlad's again. Then he pulled away suddenly, and Vlad panicked – had he done something wrong? But Bertrand was reaching for a box of tissues, shivering hard, and Vlad realised he'd given _him_ the only blanket he'd pulled out.  
“Drink your tea,” he murmured, once Bertrand had finished having a short but violent sneezing fit, “and get under this blanket with me.” He looked as if he was going to protest, so Vlad scooted up the sofa to wrap the blanket around its owner himself, cuddling up close so it covered both of them. “Drink your tea,” he repeated, as the older man made no move to do so, “and if you could pass mine while you're at it my lips will be warmer.”

“Don't.” It was a groan, and Vlad wondered if he'd been too forward. “You can't keep shorting my brain out like that, it's not fair.” But he passed him his tea, and Vlad watched carefully to make sure he drank his own before taking a sip. It wasn't _hot_ , exactly, any more, but it took the edge off the biting cold. He reached over to set the empty cup down and accidentally dislodged the blanket. As he picked it up, he realised Bertrand's shirt was still clinging to his shoulders, drenched through as his hair dripped onto it. He was also very aware of his own similar situation, and the icy water running down his back even though he'd towelled his hair off as best he could.  
“Can I be very forward, Bertrand?” The older man peered anxiously at him over the rim of his mug before putting it down. “Would you mind if I took my shirt off? It's wet.” Bertrand's eyes were like saucers, but he nodded urgently. “D'you want to take yours off?”

In the end, they both peeled their sodden tops off at the same time, wincing as they stuck to their bodies, and Vlad couldn't resist sneaking a quick peek. He made no comment on the old scars on Bertrand's exposed torso, simply covering them both with the blanket again and reaching for the towel he'd used.  
“Come here. You're not very good at this getting-warm thing.” Bertrand simply let out a contented little sigh as his hair was dried for him, and as he finished his task Vlad grew bold enough to move closer and wrap his arms around his – well, he didn't know what they were right now. He could feel more scars on Bertrand's back, but the other man's eyes were still closed, a contented smile on his face as he brought his own arms up to hold Vlad in return, so he assumed he wasn't hurting him by touching.

“Vlad,” Bertrand mumbled at last, “not that this isn't nice, but I'm tired. Can... I mean, it's warmer if we stick together... can we go to bed? Just to sleep?”  
“Mm,” Vlad nodded. “Good idea. Can we bring the blanket?” Bertrand seemed to wake up at that, laughing.  
“The bed does have a duvet, you know. Yeah, bring the blanket, the warmer the better, right?”

That was how, after only three kisses and a little light snuggling, Vlad found himself stripping down to his boxers and allowing himself to be cocooned in Bertrand's bed, the tutor wrapped tightly around his slightly smaller body as they both shivered and waited to warm up again.  
“Vlad,” he heard in his ear.  
“Bertrand?”  
“You like me back?” He realised he'd never actually _said_ any such thing.  
“Mm. Yes. Lots.” He was tired, he realised; he'd hardly slept the night before. From Bertrand's dreamy tone of voice, he suspected they had that much in common. “Ran 'cos... you'll laugh.”  
“Can't promise I won't. Tell me anyway.”  
“I thought I'd made you kiss me just from wanting it so much.” Bertrand did chuckle, but there was no malice or mockery in the sound.  
“No, I wanted it too. Still want it, more kisses in the morning. Put it on the to-do list.”  
“You have a-?”  
“No. Shh. Sleep now.” He mentally put both _more kisses_ and _find out if Bertrand really has a to-do list_ on his imaginary to-do list, and obeyed with a murmured goodnight, barely registering that the pocket of his trousers appeared to be glowing as he slipped into slumber.


	7. Summons

For a moment, when he woke up, Bertrand was aware of nothing but a slight tickling sensation just below his ear. He frowned at it for a few seconds, and then the events of the previous night came rushing back to him, just as Vlad began to stir. For a moment, it seemed like the strangest of coincidences that they should both wake up at the same time, but then he realised he could hear a persistent buzzing sound.  
“Phone,” he mumbled.  
“Mine,” Vlad returned, before apparently realising he wasn't alone. “Oh. Hey.” Then he was crawling across Bertrand's body, apologising far more than necessary given that Bertrand quite enjoyed the experience, and reaching for his jeans, which were trying to migrate across the room. After a moment, it became clear that Ingrid was on the other end of the line, and also that she was livid. He decided it would be an excellent time to brush his teeth and see if he could find some essentials for Vlad to borrow.

When he came back in, minty fresh, Vlad was still trying to get a word in edgeways.  
“But I'm _not_ dead- I'm- well, you- no- I was asleep- you locked- it _rained_ , Ingrid- a bed, in a flat. Does it matter whose?” Bertrand watched this with growing amusement, then raised a questioning brow and held his hand out for the phone. Vlad dropped it into his palm without fuss.  
“Hello, Ingrid. I assure you, Vlad is quite safe, though I would like to keep an eye on him for a bit longer- we got soaked yesterday, we might both have hypothermia.”  
 _“Are you complaining about the results?”_  
“There's no way it should have worked.”  
 _“My plans always work. Keep him. Don't wear him out too much.”_

Vlad disappeared into the bathroom once she'd hung up, nodding his thanks as Bertrand told him where to find a spare toothbrush, and when he returned he picked up his phone to show Bertrand some of the many texts that had piled up last night as they slept.

 _-Are you friends yet? I_  
-Why aren't you texting back? Are you making out? I  
-It does sound quite wet out there, do you need letting in? I  
-Where the hell are you? I got drenched looking for you. I  
-Don't do anything I wouldn't do! M  
-In case you weren't sure, that rules out nothing. M

“Well,” Bertrand managed, trying to make light of the situation, “it's comforting to know we have our options open.” Vlad smiled.  
“Can getting back in bed and snuggling be an option?” He pretended to think about it.  
“I have no objections. Let me just go and cancel my class later. I don't want to have to teach anyone how to translate _hypothermia_ out of necessity.” He'd expected Vlad to go back to bed without him, but he waited for Bertrand to get off the phone and then grabbed his hand to pull him in and under the covers.  
“So I can have you all day?”  
“If you think you're up to it.” He said it with a sly smirk, but Vlad blushed, though the fact that they were pressed tightly against one another and still wearing only their boxers revealed that his reaction to the comment wasn't _all_ bad.  
“Are... you just saying that, or...?”  
“I'm playing, Vlad.” He kissed him on the forehead, revelling in the fact that he _could_. “We're going to have to work things out as we go, like any other relationship. I mean...” It was his turn to blush. “ _Is_ this a-?”  
“Yes.” Vlad seemed very certain about that. “This is a relationship, or at least, I want it to be, and it seems like you do, so it is, right?”  
“Hm, does that mean we're boyfriends?” Vlad beamed like a Cheshire cat and snuggled closer, which Bertrand took as a yes.

With his arm around Vlad, it was easy to press a kiss into his hair, and somehow Vlad didn't seem to feel any urge to object.  
“You have to tell me, if I'm getting too close, or pushing my luck. I... don't really remember how this relationship thing works.” Vlad shifted slightly so he could press the softest, lightest of kisses to his new boyfriend's cheek.  
“You too, I haven't really... I've definitely never leapt into bed with someone straight away like this. But I kind of like the naked cuddles.”  
“We're not _naked_ ,” Bertrand protested, blushing furiously, and then realised that they might as well be. Which meant that Vlad, last night when they'd taken their shirts off, could have seen his scars. Vlad, at this moment as he smoothed soft circles into Bertrand's back with gentle hands, could feel them. The soothing movement stopped.  
“You tensed up. Are you OK?”  
“I'm not...” He trailed a hand down the smooth, unblemished skin of Vlad's back, trying to convey his point. “I'm not pretty.”  
“You're _stunning,_ ” Vlad disagreed almost before he'd finished talking. “that first time you walked into the coffee shop I thought _that guy's gorgeous, I hope he's the chatty type_. I guess I owe Malik a favour.” Bertrand blushed, but shook his head.  
“I know you must have noticed by now. You don't have to pretend you don't see them.”

Vlad sighed.  
“May I?” He was gesturing as if to flip back the covers, and Bertrand closed his eyes, bracing himself for Vlad's revulsion, before nodding. He felt cool air on his skin, felt Vlad's fingers trail over his side, down to his hip, before shifting to press a gentle touch to one of the marks on his ribs. “Bertrand, look at me.” He opened his eyes, expecting to see disgust written in Vlad's handsome features. What he saw instead was... he didn't know what it was, but the intensity of it, the _warmth_ , almost frightened him. He had no right to have someone looking at him like that. “You're beautiful. Amazing. I mean, _look_ at you. Where do you find time to work out in between teaching? You're just... and the scars, Bertrand, they don't change that. If anything, they make you look even more badass. You shouldn't... you shouldn't let them make you feel like you're not _perfect_. Because I look at you and I just see Bertrand, the gorgeous bloke who walked into my shop and swept me off my feet and gave me his blanket when I was cold. And I know I haven't known you long, but I... I really like you. These scars don't change th-” Bertrand couldn't help himself; almost before he knew it, his lips were on Vlad's, and Vlad's hand was in his hair, and Bertrand's was on Vlad's waist.

It was a little while before they broke apart, breathing fast, and Vlad sighed. “Me, on the other hand. I'm pretty sure my immune system fights off muscle like it's an illness.”  
“Your body makes me want to kiss every inch of it,” Bertrand countered, and there was a tense moment as they both processed that. Vlad smirked.  
“ _Every_ inch?” Bertrand kissed the smirk away until it became a relaxed, contented smile instead.  
“Every inch I can see at the moment, anyway. You have a dirty mind.”  
“I have a gorgeous new boyfriend, can you blame me?”  
“I'll fight him for you.”  
“Seems like a shameful waste of energy when you could be kissing me instead.” He could hardly resist that.

What started as a slow, gentle kiss swiftly evolved into something far more heated; Vlad was doing something with his tongue that Bertrand couldn't quite define, and he never wanted him to stop. By the time they broke apart, Bertrand realised that he was practically on top of the younger man.  
“Oh- sorry-” He pressed an apologetic kiss to Vlad's neck and went to move off him, but Vlad's legs wrapped tightly around his waist before he could get too far away and he could only moan against the pale skin of Vlad's throat before peppering his shoulders with kisses. “Vlad-”  
“Should I let go?” Bertrand shook his head violently.  
“No. No, no, no. No.” He pulled his face away from Vlad's for a moment, trying to catch his breath and clear his head. “...Maybe. I just feel like we're going to get carried away.” Vlad obediently unwrapped his legs and let his hands fall back onto the pillow, on either side of his head. Lying there, hair deliciously rumpled, practically naked, he was the picture of temptation.  
“I don't mind if you don't.”  
“Don't tempt me-” he groaned as Vlad's body arched up off the bed towards him, his head thrown back and his neck exposed, and he couldn't resist grinding down against him and sucking hard at his neck, raising livid red marks- and then Vlad's phone rang.

They froze, but it didn't seem like it was going to stop ringing any time soon, so Vlad picked it up.  
“I'm busy, go away, Ing- Wolfie? What's- shh, don't cry, what's wrong?” By silent mutual agreement, they both sat up, Bertrand moving to rest his head on Vlad's shoulder as he listened to his little brother on the end of the phone. “She- What? No, that can't be right, Wolfie, I'm sure you just got muddled... Alright. Alright, no, OK, I believe you. Alright, I'm...” He heaved a heavy sigh, glancing forlornly across at Bertrand, “...I'm on my way home, OK? Yeah, I'll bring him with me if I can. We'll look after you. You're gonna be OK if I hang up, yeah? 'Cos I need to get dr... ready, you know, put my shoes on and things. Alright, see you in a minute. Brave boy.”

Bertrand held out his t-shirt and Vlad took it, looking resigned.  
“Wolfie's got it into his head that Mum's not coming back for him and Dad's going to kick him out. He wanted me to get you, too. I'm... I'm really sorry, I have to-” Bertrand silenced him with a kiss and reached to start pulling his own trousers on.  
“Then I'm coming. Can't have him being upset, can we?” Vlad still looked disappointed, so he kissed him again. “Come on. Get dressed, we have all the time in the world for this, I promise. But right now your little brother needs you, and the sooner he's happy again the sooner we can sneak off without your phone blowing up.” Vlad managed only a rueful smile at that, though, and Bertrand couldn't deny that the way their morning had been brought to an abrupt halt had left him feeling a bit flat too. “Get dressed, and then we're going to spend two minutes on the sofa making out like the world's ending before we go. Deal?”  
“ _Five_ minutes?”  
“...Alright.”

* * *

When they arrived at the Bean Counter, Will was serving. He made no move to stop them as they passed him and made for the stairs, but Malik met them at the bottom.  
“Alright, lovebirds, you're going to be thoroughly mocked later so don't think you're getting off the hook – nice hickey, Vlad-” He blushed; he hadn't noticed it, “-but Wolfie won't even let go of Ingrid and she wanted me to warn you before you go up there that _this is not a drill_. Your mum really did call, Vlad, she's really not coming back for him, and Dad broke the news _before_ going to buy sweets and ice cream, like an idiot. It took all of about five minutes once he'd left for Wolfie to get hysterical about Dad not wanting him either and insist on calling you. So that's the situation. And hopefully Dad won't be long.” Vlad nodded solemnly and they all proceeded up to the door of Wolfie's room. Bertrand's hand at the small of his back was oddly reassuring.

The important thing, he told himself as they knocked on the door, was to calm his little brother down. His own anger could wait. But when the door swung open to reveal a sobbing little boy clinging to his sister, it was all he could do to keep his rage hidden inside.  
“Oh, Wolfie, come here.” He threw himself down next to his siblings and wrapped his arms around the child, Ingrid shifting subtly as if to rid herself of pins and needles. He felt bad about those five minutes on Bertrand's sofa now, but they'd been _good_ and sometimes you needed to feel good before you could make someone else feel better. “We're not going to lose you, you're staying here with us, OK? We're way more fun anyway.”  
“But Uncle Count doesn't-”  
“He thinks you're great, Wolfie, of course he'll let you stay.” He didn't doubt for a second that they could talk him into it, if he hadn't already made the decision himself. “We all do. Look, Malik's here for you, and Bertrand, and Will's just downstairs, and me and Ingrid will always be here for you, and Dad will be home soon to tell you not to be silly. Of course you can stay.” Wolfie peered tearfully at each of the people in his room in turn, then buried his face back against Vlad's chest.  
“Why don't Mum and Dad want me any more?” Vlad sighed; it was a question he and Ingrid had often asked themselves.  
“The thing about Mum, Wolfie, is that she's not very good with kids. Or people, really. And sometimes, when you're not good with people, that makes you not good _for_ people, so you have to give the people you're supposed to look after to someone else instead so they can do it better.” Wolfie pulled away from him, confused, and Bertrand responded to the expression, automatically it seemed, by translating for him.  
“You'll have a better family here, Wolfie, that's why your mum wants you to stay. Because it's better for you.”

The little boy smiled, and Vlad exchanged an anxious look with his new boyfriend before leaning in to whisper in Wolfie's ear.  
“Do you like Bertrand?” Wolfie frowned.  
“He's right there.”  
“He can't hear us.”  
“Of course I like him. He teaches me how to talk to Italian wolves, and he's really nice.” Vlad glanced across again before lowering his voice even further.  
“ _I_ like him so much he's my boyfriend now.” There was a moment's pause and then Wolfie beamed, like he'd swallowed the sun.  
“That's the best thing – that's a good thing for today to go with the sad things! A happy thing. You're happy, right?” Wolfie was decidedly not whispering, and Vlad didn't bother to keep up the pretence of secrecy any longer.  
“I'm very happy. I hope he is too.”  
“He _is_! Look, he's all smiley!” Vlad turned fast enough to make the bones in his neck click, and sure enough, Bertrand was grinning at him. Ingrid rolled her eyes.  
“He should be, it looks like he tried to _eat_ you.” Wolfie's grin faltered and she continued hastily, “Of course Bertrand doesn't eat people, Wolfie, I was joking, you'll get it when you're older.”  
“Is it 'cos he bit Vlad's neck? 'Cos someone definitely bit Vlad's neck.” Bertrand groaned, and he looked so mortified that Vlad just _had_ to slip away from Wolfie and kiss him. A slight tug at Bertrand's lower lip with his teeth, and he considered them even.  
“It's OK, Wolfie, I bit him back.” But Bertrand's arms were around him now, and it was proving harder than Vlad had expected to make himself pull away. Actually, he realised with a stab of panic, it might be less embarrassing to stay where he was, because apparently the lower half of his body had just remembered where they'd left off earlier.

Fortunately, Malik chose that moment to return to the room – Vlad hadn't noticed him leaving, but it did explain the lack of teasing from that quarter – having clearly brought their dad up to speed on Wolfie's mood. For a moment, as he stood in the doorway, Vlad wondered what he would do and just hoped he wouldn't be too harsh. He immediately felt bad for doubting him, though, as his father swooped down on the little boy and picked him up to hug him.  
“You, my boy, are staying here with us for as long as you'd like. I need somebody to keep your brothers and sister in line, you can do that for me, can't you?”  
“Why do they have to keep in a line?” He shook his head fondly.  
“I just mean to keep them out of trouble. But you don't even have to do that. Your mother may be utterly useless, but somebody's got to pick up the pieces and it may as well be us.” Wolfie didn't seem entirely reassured by this.  
“You're one of us, kid,” Malik assured him, and seemed to be struck by a sudden realisation. “Hey, didn't Dad say something about sweets? Let's go and find them. Coming, 'grid?” Wolfie hugged his Uncle Count's legs as soon as he was back on the ground.  
“You'll keep me?” The older man crouched down slowly until he was at Wolfie's level and nodded, smiling.  
“We'll keep you.” Another hug, and Wolfie bounded over to Malik, following him and Ingrid down the stairs and leaving Vlad alone with Bertrand... and his father.

Oh. This was going to be awkward.


	8. Squeal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT ALERT

Bertrand realised he was in trouble the moment Mr Count turned to them and noticed the way they were standing, arms wrapped around each other – Vlad refused to turn around and Bertrand thought that was probably for the best – not to mention the rather obvious lovebite on his son's neck. He frowned, and Bertrand braced himself for a _stay away from my son_ talk. He'd have to stop teaching Wolfie, he'd have to see Vlad in secret – because much as he respected Mr Count and his wishes, he couldn't bear to think of _not_ seeing Vlad – it had been so good for a couple of hours, and now it was about to go wrong.

“Damn,” he said at last, “I owe your sister five pounds.” Bertrand blinked; that didn't make any sense at all.  
“You _bet_ on us?” Vlad seemed almost resigned to this kind of thing. “Dad!”  
“I didn't bet on _you,_ exactly, I bet you wouldn't get together when Ingrid locked you out. Obviously you were going to at some point, I just didn't expect her _plan_ to work.”  
“Ingrid's plans always work.” Mr Count sighed.  
“So it seems.” He turned to meet Bertrand's eyes. “You're going to be good for him, and you're not going to hurt him.”  
“I wouldn't dream of hurting him.”  
“Mm, don't rule it out _completely_ ,” Vlad murmured, tease that he was, and Bertrand realised he would do _anything_ for this boy, if he wanted him to.  
“See that you don't,” Mr Count continued, blissfully unaware of Vlad's words in Bertrand's ear and the effect they were having on him. “Now get out of here, it's a beautiful day outside. Always nice after a storm.” They were lucky; he left first. 

Vlad stepped back at last, looking sheepish, and grabbed his boyfriend's hand to drag him up the stairs.  
“I'd take you to my room, but the walls are thin. And everyone's downstairs. And it _is_ nice today.” They burst onto the roof and Bertrand almost laughed at how different it all was. Arriving together, glorious weather, no horrible awkward tension... He grabbed Vlad and threw himself down, pulling his boyfriend on top of him and kissing him urgently.  
“I thought your Dad was going to kill me.”  
“He likes you. Can we not talk about him right now?” He felt Vlad carefully extract his shoulders from Bertrand's grip, link their fingers and press his hands back against the floor beside his head, pinning him down before going in for another kiss. “This alright?” Bertrand couldn't give him much of an answer besides moaning softly and rocking his hips up, subtly begging for more. Vlad delivered, rocking his own hips in return and nibbling once more at Bertrand's lower lip.  
“Your family could come up here any minute,” he managed after a few breathless seconds, but Vlad just groaned and rocked again.  
“Fire escape to your place?”  
“Do you want-”  
“Yeah, you're wearing too many clothes and you probably won't take them off here.”  
“You-?” Vlad stopped what he'd been doing, standing and helping Bertrand to his feet.  
“Sorry, I'm not trying to push anything... I just... I really want to go back to yours and cuddle. Or whatever you want to do.”

He spoke without thinking.  
“I just want a shower.” The rain had utterly ruined his hair last night and now it felt disgusting. But Vlad's eyes widened and he realised he'd jumped to conclusions. Conclusions involving _Vlad_ in Bertrand's shower, sharing the spray... conclusions that made him seriously fear for his safety if he tried to go down a ladder in his current state. The ideas certainly weren't unpleasant, but he hadn't meant to freak Vlad out-  
“...Can I come with you?” This couldn't be real. Could it? He raced for the fire escape and Vlad followed him down.

Almost before he knew it, he had a topless Vlad pressed up against the tiled wall of his bathroom.  
“You were serious,” he breathed, hardly able to believe it.  
“I'm serious.” He was pulling at Bertrand's shirt, now, apparently oblivious to the fact that one of the buttons was still done up. Bertrand obligingly discarded it before pushing him back against the wall.  
“Why?”  
“I want you. I want to be close to you. I just _want,_ Bertrand. I want anything you want.” He hesitated, uncertain of how Vlad wanted this to go. Last night, frozen and tired, they'd removed their own clothing, and now no matter how much he wanted to relieve Vlad of his jeans it felt like it might be too intimate, too soon. But then, wasn't Vlad proposing they share a shower? What could be more intimate than that? He compromised, leaning in close.  
“May I undress you, Vladimir?” He certainly wasn't expecting the shiver that ran through Vlad's body.  
“How do you make my name sound so... _yes_. Please. _Oh_.” His own hands shot to the top of Bertrand's trousers before he froze.  
“You can,” Bertrand told him, “if you want.” He gently pressed their lips together and slowly, giving Vlad as much time as possible to change his mind, began to undo his jeans. Vlad made a muffled noise against Bertrand's lips and deepened the kiss, wasting no time whatsoever in unfastening Bertrand's trousers and pushing them down. Emboldened by this response, Bertrand slipped a thumb under the waistband of Vlad's boxers – and Vlad caught his hand.  
  
“I'm sorry,” he began, pulling away, before actually taking a moment to _look_ at Vlad. The boy was pressed against the wall, eyes closed, breathing heavily. Bertrand wondered, for a fleeting moment, if there had ever been a more breathtaking sight, before concluding that of course there never had been and _that wasn't important_. Vlad's face was scrunched up as if in concentration or pain – oh, god, had Bertrand hurt him? “Are you alr-”  
“Sh, stop. I need – need to calm down – before I embarrass us both and your voice isn't helping.” He took another deep breath, opened his eyes, and scrunched them shut again. “Oh god. This is humiliating.” Bertrand hesitated, then rested a hand on Vlad's cheek, barely touching.  
“Vlad. I don't care if you... _embarrass_ yourself. Do you still want to shower?” Vlad nodded, gritting his teeth. “Then here, let me undress you.”  
“Bertrand-” He held his hands up, waiting for Vlad to open his eyes and see his blatant surrender.  
“I won't touch you if you don't want. Vlad, please, just... tell me what you want. What _you_ want.”

Vlad just stared at him for a long moment, and Bertrand watched his eyes grow wide and dark. He had to fight the instinct to cover himself up, and it was all he could do to keep his own eyes on Vlad's face.  
“You don't mind if I-?” He shook his head, and Vlad awkwardly pulled his own jeans down, taking his boxers with them. He was blushing, looking anywhere but at Bertrand, so he reached out to cup the younger man's chin and gently turn his face upwards, towards his own.  
“I'm not even looking, not until you're comfortable. OK? Would it help if I was naked too?” Vlad's hands were already at his hips, tracing the line of his underwear, teasing, asking permission. “Go on,” he breathed, and then they were both bare, eyes locked on one another's, frozen in the moment.

Vlad was the first to move again, trailing a thumb timidly down the inside of Bertrand's thigh, barely indecent but utterly intoxicating in a way that made his breath hitch. His eyes were still fixed firmly on Bertrand's face, though, so Bertrand afforded him the same courtesy as he took his hand and led him into the large shower cubicle that had been one of the selling points of the flat in the first place. One hand pressed Vlad against the side, keeping him clear of the initially-icy jet of water, as the other expertly adjusted the temperature and power dials before he let his boyfriend go.  
“How's that?” Suddenly he was the one pressed against an edge as Vlad stepped under the spray and kissed him. He pushed back to wrap his arms around him, the two of them under the water together, and Vlad gasped in shock. It took Bertrand a moment to realise what he'd accidentally brushed his thigh against, but Vlad was clutching at his back, desperate, wanting. It was almost instinctive to align their bodies and rock against him, sending waves of pleasure through his own body and, apparently, Vlad's. 

Minutes later, the younger man was clawing wildly at Bertrand's back, an inhuman moan signalling the moment he finally lost control and came apart in his arms. Hearing that utterly wanton noise, watching his face as he gave into the pleasure, feeling something other than just the warm water of the shower splatter his body, it was almost too much.  
“Vlad, I'm-” _Almost_ wasn't quite the word, it seemed, and he pressed his face into the crook of Vlad's neck as his body utterly betrayed him. He pulled back reluctantly, expecting Vlad to be disgusted or horrified by the fact that they'd just come all over each other without so much as _touching_ anywhere risqué – not with hands, anyway – without even _looking_... but Vlad looked utterly blissed-out.

“Confession,” he murmured at length, and attached himself to Bertrand's neck, no doubt leaving marks to match the ones on his own. After a few moments, when it became clear that he'd forgotten he was talking, Bertrand tugged gently at his hair to get his attention.  
“Confession?” Vlad nodded sheepishly.  
“Oh, yeah. Confession. Never done that with someone else before.”  
“Showered?” He spoke dreamily, sated and content to drift in his post-orgasmic haze for a little longer.  
“Well, yeah, but I meant... Oh, god, I can't believe I did that, it got all over you-” Vlad was easy to calm, Bertrand was realising; all it took was a gentle kiss to his jaw and the boy fell quiet, moaning softly as he allowed his lover to trail kisses up towards his ear and back down to claim his lips.  
“We're in a shower, I can hardly complain about the mess. And you're so beautiful, when you- _never_?” Vlad shook his head, and Bertrand felt a sudden surge of concern. “Are you alright? Was it- are you- should we have-?”  
“Shh.” Vlad, it seemed, had learnt how to calm Bertrand, too; at any rate, his hand buried in Bertrand's curly hair certainly seemed to work, however drenched it was at the time. “Incredible. Unbelievable. Can I wash your hair for you?” He was rubbing gentle circles into his scalp as he spoke, and Bertrand was pretty sure that if he _could_ purr, that would be what he was doing, letting Vlad press soft kisses to his neck as he did so.  
“Mm. Wash each other?” Vlad nodded, and Bertrand gave an answering nod. “Then bed?”  
“I like your plan.”

* * *

 

Vlad couldn't quite believe he was here, doing this. Bertrand, apparently sensing his nerves, had stood and allowed him to touch as he pleased, without reciprocating. Vlad had carefully shampooed and conditioned those gorgeous curls he'd grown to love, and run a bar of soap over muscles and scar tissue, and Bertrand had done little more than occasionally clutch at his shoulders with soft, contented little moans. Vlad could watch him all day. He didn't miss the tiny flinches when he paid attention to the scars, though, especially the ones on his back.  
“Am I hurting you, Bertrand?”  
“No. Am I disgusting you?” He made a point, then, of kissing each and every scar once the soap was washed off. Bertrand took the soap back off him when Vlad found that he'd run out of above-the-waist Bertrand to clean, and Vlad couldn't help but be a little relieved, afraid he'd hurt him if he ventured lower.

Bertrand rubbed the soap between his hands, then set it aside and rubbed his hands together to work up a decent lather.  
“May I?” he asked, and the moment Vlad had nodded gentle, soapy hands were smoothing across his collarbones, down his chest and over his arms, washing him as gently as Vlad could imagine was possible. “You're so beautiful,” Bertrand murmured as he moved behind him to do his back, “ _so_ beautiful. I can't believe you're letting me touch you.”  
“Believe it,” Vlad hummed as Bertrand found a particularly tense spot in his back and took a little extra time to apply gentle pressure, “oh, that feels amazing.” The older man was reaching for the shampoo now, and Vlad closed his eyes, utterly trusting him. By the time Bertrand had rinsed out the conditioner, Vlad was so relaxed he felt as if he might fall asleep there and then. They took one look at each other and decided to wash themselves from the waist down, if only for speed's sake. Vlad found that he very much wanted to be tangled up in Bertrand's sheets again, as soon as possible.

At last, Bertrand switched the shower off and tied a towel carefully around Vlad's waist for him before fastening another in a similar fashion for himself. Vlad just let him, unsure of what to do next, until Bertrand leant in and kissed him again.  
“Stop worrying. Want to get dressed?” He hadn't even considered that that was an option rather than a necessity; at home, it would have been impossible to get back to his room without being spotted by a family member – something he'd really rather avoid – but here, it was just him and Bertrand, and they'd already seen all there was to see of each other, for all their noble attempts not to glance downwards.  
“No... I think I want to go to bed with you like this.” He thought about it. “Maybe drier, though, so we don't ruin your bed.” Bertrand grabbed a spare towel from a cupboard and threw it over both of their heads, like a tent. In the sudden artificial darkness, Vlad could just see those blue eyes dancing with merriment before he got down to the serious business of drying his hair. Vlad followed suit, but he couldn't resist pausing to steal a kiss. Bertrand made a little sound almost like a growl.  
“Hurry up and dry your hair, I want you back in my bed as soon as possible.” That was it.  
“Forget the hair, I'll change the bed for you myself if it gets wet, I demand bed-snuggles now.”  
“Ooh, _demand_ , is it?” Bertrand teased, then bit his lip. “I could get used to that.”

They toppled into bed together, Vlad landing almost on top of Bertrand as he overbalanced. Bertrand didn't seem to mind, pulling him on top of himself and kissing him roughly.  
“We should go on a date,” he murmured, and Vlad frowned.  
“Not right now. Kissing. Important.”  
“Mm, yes, but-” He was abruptly cut off as Vlad crushed their lips together again, all too aware of the towel around his waist slipping a fraction. “-but soon.” 

It could have been minutes or hours before Vlad pulled away again enough to speak.  
“Mm, okay. Date soon. You don't mind that we're not doing stuff in order?”  
“Mmmmmm.” It was just a hum against Vlad's lips as he kissed him again.  
“All those beautiful languages you can speak and I get 'mmmm'?” He teased, smiling down at him.  
“It's not my fault you break my brain.” The tiniest movement of Bertrand's hips and Vlad thought he might know the feeling. “I'll sweet-talk you in every language I know, later.”  
“How many _is_ that?” He got no reply, which was probably because he hadn't waited for one before throwing himself sideways and rolling them over. He nearly fell out of the bed in the process, but it was worth it for the sight of an utterly breathless Bertrand propping himself up with one hand and steadying Vlad with the other. 

A potentially awkward side-effect, of course, was the way his towel had slipped; Vlad could feel his cheeks burning as Bertrand glanced down and noticed the thin strip of pale, exposed skin up the side of his leg.  
“I still want to kiss every part of you I can see,” he whispered, breath hot against Vlad's ear, “may I?” He took a deep breath and found he couldn't let go of it, even as Bertrand pulled back to peer at him anxiously. “Vlad. Breathe.” He could see his own mounting panic reflected in Bertrand's eyes; the older man shifted his weight onto one hand, hesitated... and pounced, poking him in the side.  
“ _Yes_.” The word shot out of Vlad with – thankfully – the breath that had got caught, and Bertrand laughed.  
“Nice try, Vlad, maybe when you can say it without losing vital signs-”  
“ _Yes._ Please, Bertrand. Yes. I want you to kiss me, just...” The towel had shifted again when Bertrand had poked him; he smoothed it back to its former position. “Just this, for now?”  
“Are you sure you want me to?”  
“I'm _begging_ you to, Bertrand. Anything, just no moving the towel, and be kissing me please.”  
“You know, a less scrupulous man would take advantage of your phrasing.” But Bertrand just kissed him once more before slipping down to the foot of the bed and pressing his lips to Vlad's ankle.

Vlad shivered as a trail of kisses began to work its way up his leg. There was no _way_ that should have been as hot as it was, and he told Bertrand so when he paused at his knee to check he was alright with the way things were going. He laughed.  
“I must just be that good. Oh, I bet you're gonna squeal when I get to...” his finger circled in the air for a moment, then touched, feather-light and fleeting, on his hipbone, “here.” He laughed again, then, obviously realising that Vlad had closed his eyes in appreciation of the touch. “You're gonna squeal.”  
“I am _not_ gonna _squeal_.” Bertrand just pressed another kiss, a little higher up than he had before, and grinned at him.  
“You are.”  
“Prove it, then.” And Bertrand wasted no time, swooping down to add gentle teeth and tongue to his efforts as he made his way up Vlad's leg, sticking carefully to the gap in the towel.

He could feel himself tensing as the kisses approached the hotly-contested spot where the towel didn't quite cover the tender spot inside of his hipbone, and Bertrand was smiling softly, sensing victory. Vlad couldn't watch him any more, not if he wanted to win the little wager they had going on. As it was, he was thankful only his pride was at stake. He felt a soft, chaste kiss just below his hipbone – easy, a kiss like that was hardly going to make him squeal – and then nothing, nothing but Bertrand's breath on his skin for a long moment. If Bertrand was going to chicken out altogether-  
“Oh, fff-!” Bertrand had flicked his tongue right over that sensitive skin and Vlad, caught off-guard despite everything, almost kicked him with the force of his reaction. He sat up, spluttering. “It's- I know it _sounded_ a bit like a squeal but it's not a squeal if you nearly swear, so...” Bertrand wasn't gloating, or responding at all, though, and Vlad looked down at him to see what the problem was, only to realise that the towel had slipped further when he sat up, and now he might as well not be wearing one at all. Bertrand was breathing hard, looking up at Vlad as if waiting for instructions.

“Well,” Vlad managed at last, “I guess now you can look.” He'd have been less embarrassed, perhaps, if he wasn't more than a little aroused in the wake of all the kissing. Bertrand's eyes trailed slowly down his body, down to the bottom of his rib cage.  
“Yeah?” He reached down and pushed the towel aside completely, deciding he might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb.  
“Yeah. I don't- you can- anything, Bertrand, you can do what you want to me.”  
“ _Vlad_...” He sounded awestruck, but more distractingly, Bertrand had inadvertently breathed his name very close to the part of his anatomy they were talking about, making him whimper with need.

Bertrand crawled up his body to meet his eyes, stroking his tongue into Vlad's mouth and setting every nerve in his body on fire in the process before moving back and waiting for him to recover.  
“Thinking straight?” He asked, cautiously, and it took a moment for the question to filter through Vlad's overloaded brain. He took several deep breaths.  
“Yeah. Why?”  
“I want to taste you,” he told him, as if it was the most logical thing in the world, “but only if you-”  
“Please,” Vlad whimpered, painfully hard just at the thought, “oh, please-” Bertrand kissed him again, swallowing his pleas, and then moved off down his body, pausing once or twice to press kisses to his chest.  
“Sure?”  
“Ye- _ahhh_ -” Bertrand had barely waited for his reply before running his tongue along Vlad's length and then swallowing him down. “Fuh-” The older man pulled back, focusing his attentions on the most sensitive part of Vlad's most sensitive part, his hand coming to help by stroking confidently as Vlad writhed. This wasn't going to last long, he realised. Still, he was determined to hang onto it for as long as possible. Besides, he wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to _do,_ because of course he'd seen videos (Robin had made sure he'd seen videos) but that just didn't seem like a particularly helpful example to be following and what if he _hurt_ Bertrand-?

“Vlad,” he _whimpered_ as Bertrand stopped what he was doing to talk, “how do you want to do this? I can tell you're close.”  
“How can you tell?” He didn't know why those were the words falling from his lips when all he could think of was _Bertrand's_ lips and a desperate, pleading litany of things he wanted him to never stop doing with them.  
“You were nearly pulling my hair out.” He licked again and Vlad finally managed to get the part of his brain wanting this to never end – and, contrarily, to end in any of a number of mind-blowing ways – to communicate.  
“I want- I want- how do you-?”  
“What are your instincts telling you, Vlad? There aren't a whole lot of wrong answers.” His words were gentle, his fingers were trailing up and down Vlad's thigh, and if he didn't stop _looking_ at Vlad like that the whole thing was going to be taken out of his hands very quickly. Vlad blushed all the same, afraid that Bertrand would hate him for what he was thinking.  
“I want... not to let you go, to- to- hold your head there-” Bertrand took his hand and placed it at the back of his head as if it was the most natural request he could make. Perhaps it was. Vlad didn't know.  
“Do me a favour, then, if you will? Look at me, so I can see you. I could watch your face when you come all day.” Then he lowered his head again, peering up at him from under his eyelashes as he got back to work, and Vlad knew he must be holding onto his hair unbearably tightly – Bertrand didn't seem to mind – and it didn't take long at all before his hips bucked up off the bed and Bertrand, somehow, swallowed it all.


	9. Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT ALERT (apologies for the short chapter)

Bertrand crawled up the bed with Vlad's hand still tightly wound into his hair, as if the younger man hadn't quite regained the motor skills to let go, yet. He was quite ready to drop down onto the mattress beside him and just watch him breathe, eyes wide, until he got over the most debilitating part of the aftermath, but Vlad dragged him down into an urgent kiss, like he couldn't get enough of him. Somewhere in the process of sucking Vlad off, his body had started to stir without him even noticing, but, now as Vlad dragged him down and began licking into his mouth, moaning as he tasted himself on Bertrand's tongue, he could feel himself hardening in earnest.  
“Vlad-”  
“Towel off,” the boy murmured absently, and it wasn't as if Bertrand could really argue with that.

As the towel fell to the floor, Vlad stared, reaching to trail a hand down Bertrand's chest. “Can I touch?” He nodded, and hissed in a breath as Vlad did just that, stroking softly before wrapping his hand around him. “Can you hold yourself up while I do this?”  
“We'll- mm- see-” He shifted into a more stable position anyway, straddling the younger man and closing his eyes as his hand worked over him. “Yes. _Yes_.”  
“You're so hot, Bertrand, how did this take us so long?”  
“It's only been- we haven't known-”  
“I should have closed the shop and had you over the counter the first day you walked in.” Bertrand groaned, rocking his hips into Vlad's hand.  
“Ohhhh, Vlad – I'm not that kind of girl.” That earned him a laugh, which shouldn't have been as sexy as it was, and Vlad was still lazily stroking, not quite slowly enough to be torturous but not quite as fast as Bertrand wanted. He could wait, though, he was sure Vlad would pick up speed at some point and in the meantime this felt _good_. Frustrating, but good.  
“Nor am I. For you, though, I think I could make an exception.”  
“You- romantic- _oh_.” Vlad's hand was moving the tiniest bit faster now, and his free hand had come to rest on Bertrand's hip, and he just wanted those slender hands to stay on him forever. “Please-”  
“Hm?” Bertrand thrust desperately against Vlad's grip and watched the other man's eyes darken. “You gonna come for me, Bertrand?”  
“Please- yes-”  
“Just for me?” Vlad was smirking now, hand moving just right, and Bertrand was so close- “All over me?” That did it, and somehow Vlad didn't even look the slightest bit _disgusted_ as Bertrand came, helpless, all over his chest and stomach.

“Vlad,” he murmured when he was capable of more than groaning, “oh, Vlad. You perfect being.”  
“I did OK, then?”  
“You're... there isn't a _word_. We should shower again, probably.” Vlad made a vague discontented sound and dragged Bertrand down to lie beside him.  
“Do you really want to get out of bed? Because I don't.”  
“Let me at least get a flannel.” Vlad seemed to think about it for a moment, then nodded reluctantly and let him go. Bertrand got a wet flannel and cleaned them both up with tender, careful movements, but the moment he was done, dropping the flannel to the floor to deal with later, Vlad pulled him in close again and kissed him fiercely.  
“Now I'm never letting go. That OK?” Bertrand just wrapped his arms around him and pulled the covers up.  
“Perfect.”

At some point they must have fallen asleep, because Vlad's phone woke them again. He was already mumbling groggily when Bertrand woke up.  
“Where even _is_ my phone?” Bertrand thought about it for a minute, listening to the beeping sound as it echoed from...  
“Bathroom. Must have been in your pocket.” He had to stifle a laugh as Vlad literally _crawled_ out of bed and into the bathroom to retrieve his phone, wearing the duvet like a snail wears a shell. This left Bertrand rather exposed, but it wasn't actually _cold_ in his flat, and it wasn't as if anyone was looking at him.

“What is it, 'grid?” There was a pause. “Um... I don't... we hadn't thought about it. Hang on.” He emerged from the bathroom, now upright and holding the duvet around him. “Ber- hngh.” He was just staring, and Bertrand shifted uncomfortably on the bed, wondering what kind of sight he made, sprawled naked on the rumpled sheets. “Uhh... No, I'm... I'm just... looking for him. What was I-? Oh yeah. Bertrand, were you planning on kicking me out at some point tonight?” That was unexpected.  
“You're welcome to stay,” he managed, hoping that was the right answer, and Vlad grinned.  
“Yeah, Ingrid, I'm staying over. Yeah, well, only if you can get rid of Dad and Wolfie. Good luck. Shut up, Ingrid. I'm hanging up on you. Bye.”  
He ended the call, then threw himself at the bed.

“Guess I'm here all night.”  
“Guess you are. Why did Ingrid want to know? It's not late enough for her to be worried.” It was only about half two, by Bertrand's guess – Vlad the duvet mountain was between him and his alarm clock.  
“Apparently Malik's out for the night, so she only has to get rid of Dad and Wolfie and she and Will can have the house to themselves. Then she started talking about _toys_ and I really don't know which of us she was referring to or which of us I _want_ her to have been referring to, so I hung up.”  
“She's probably guessed what we've been doing, then. Impressive, since we had no idea.”  
“That is so embarrassing.” He looked so genuinely mortified that Bertrand couldn't help but laugh as he kissed him.  
“Let me distract you, then.” That earned him a quizzical look. “Which language would you like me to sweet-talk you in first?”  
  
  



	10. Scramble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last proper chapter - epilogue should be up tomorrow as I'm moving house again and don't know when I'll be able to update. Sorry if it seems a bit rushed!

It was an extremely sleepy Vlad who parted ways with Bertrand at the door of the Bean Counter the next day. They had slept in fits and starts, too keen to discover and explore one another to make a concerted effort to rest. They'd kept it mostly PG, though, after Bertrand's sweet-talking challenge, and had eventually even got dressed and eaten sandwiches before making the short journey to the coffee shop for the start of Vlad's afternoon shift. When they arrived, Bertrand pressed him up against the wall outside and kissed him again, as if he couldn't bear to go on without that one more kiss.  
  
“Coming in?”  
“Sorry, I've really got to get to this lesson-”  
“No, it's fine. Come after?”  
“Of course. I'll see you then.” One more brief kiss and Bertrand was gone, leaving Vlad to face his siblings alone. 

He pushed the door and walked in, bracing himself for teasing.  
“Vlad! Malik's got a _girlfriend_!”  
“She's not my girlfriend!” It seemed he'd been upstaged. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or oddly disappointed.  
“It's pathetically cliché, it's like the plot of _Grease_.”  
“It's _not_ like the plot of _Grease_ , you take that back.” Ingrid looked supremely unperturbed by the way Malik was towering over her, glaring; Will took a step forward, though, so at least the blustering seemed to be having some effect on _somebody_.  
“Alright, stop me when I hit a difference – boy meets girl expecting torrid affair, boy has a lot less sex than he'd hoped for with girl, boy and girl feel a strange, indefinable connection, but oh no! Girl is only in the area for a short time and will then return to her home, miles away. Girl and boy part, left with only memories of what was and what might have been. Girl ends up back in area, for good, boy is the subject of merciless teasing-”  
“There. There's a difference, you're not going to be merciless, are... you?” Ingrid smiled sweetly at her half-brother, and Vlad could only shrug when Malik turned to him in a silent appeal.  
“Oh, Malik, we're going to tease you _so much,_ ” Ingrid smirked, “until we get bored of that and move on to Vlad.” At that, Vlad made a helpless gesture.  
“Sorry, it's in my best interests not to let her get bored. So what's this girl like?”  
“None of your business. Just a girl.”

Malik was apparently so keen to avoid the conversation that he actually served three customers before he spoke again.  
“Look, she... her name's Erin and she's a bit punk-rock with a heart of gold and her brother got a job in town so she's moving up here too. Totally not my type. That's all.”  
“Not your type, but you're head-over-heels for her?”  
“ _Shut up, Vlad_.”

Malik gave up eventually, ignoring his family as they fished for more information and teased him by turns. He'd never got attached to one girl like this before, after all, preferring to embrace the spirit of free love, or at least free sex. He seemed to have one eye on the door as he worked, though, as did Ingrid, and Vlad only realised why when it was too late.

The moment Bertrand walked in, all allegiances changed.  
“Fair game!” Malik called, and Ingrid turned on Vlad with a vicious smirk.  
“You really thought we were going to let you get away with it? We just thought you should have some moral support, or a witness to your humiliation.”  
“Bertrand, run,” he told him as he reached the counter, but Bertrand just laughed.  
“It can't be that ba-”  
“Soooooooo, you two spent _two_ nights together, hm?”  
“Tell us _all_ about it, Vlad, is he any good?”  
“Did you finally lose your-”  
“Ingrid! There are children in here.”  
“God, you even _sound_ like him.”

Bertrand seemed not a little startled by this exchange, as the three siblings snapped at each other, but he stood close enough to the counter that Vlad could lean over it and kiss him.  
“Coffee?”  
“Please.” Ingrid and Malik were cooing in the background, making an assortment of innuendos, but Vlad chose to ignore them as he made Bertrand's coffee – just how he liked it – and sorted out his change. Bertrand, as ever, put most of it in the tip jar. “They, um... they're enjoying themselves.”  
“Yeah, I guess Ingrid got bored of teasing Malik about his _girlfriend_.”

To his surprise, Bertrand just nodded across at Malik with a smile.  
“Good for you. That worked out then? Long-distance thing?”  
“Nah, she's apparently moving here now. Works for me.”  
“That's great. You cool with me and Vlad?”  
“Just don't give me the details.” And then he realised what he'd said. “Did you just talk me into _not_ teasing you about this?”  
“Yup. Can't tease Vlad either, or he'll give you _explicit_ details.”  
  
Ingrid was harder to get round, though.  
“Go on then, spill.” Vlad moved round the counter and hid his face against his boyfriend's chest, blushing furiously.  
“Shut up, Ingrid.” She just laughed at that.  
“No, that doesn't sound like nearly as much fun as-” Vlad didn't hear the rest of what she said, though, because Bertrand had put the hand not holding his coffee on Vlad's shoulder and steered him firmly outside.

“Hey,” he said at last, after an awkward moment of just standing outside.  
“Hey,” Vlad replied with a smile. Of all the things that could have been said... _hey_? Really?  
“They haven't been giving you too much of a hard time, have they?”  
“Not as much as you do. Give me... a hard time. You know. Har- oh, shut up, Vlad, you're babbl-” Bertrand had him pressed against the wall again before he could beat himself up any more, apparently unaware that half the shop was squashed against the window peering at them. Vlad didn't much care himself, to be honest.   
“You make terrible puns,” Bertrand panted harshly against the place where Vlad's jaw met his ear, “and I think they're wonderful, and you're wonderful, and I could barely stop thinking about you all lesson.” Vlad groaned, pushing his body away from the wall, pressing against Bertrand, until he realised that actually, yes, he did sort of care that his entire family was probably watching.  
“Drink your coffee.” Bertrand pulled away with one more soft kiss and obeyed, giving Vlad a few moments to assess the situation.

He'd been thinking about Bertrand all day, too – if he hadn't been so determined to distract himself, he probably wouldn't have been such a brat to his older brother – and it occurred to him that they'd moved really fast. They'd gone from friendship to not speaking, and straight from there to bed, and now he couldn't stop thinking about him... He wanted to invite Bertrand to spend the night with him again. He wanted to propose all kinds of diversions. He wanted _Bertrand_ , and it threatened to consume him.  
“It's because it's new,” came a gentle voice in his ear, and he realised he'd said at least some of that aloud. “that's all it is, we're just excited about getting to know each other. But I do think we should sleep separately tonight.”  
“Why?” The question escaped before he could think it through. Bertrand must have seen the hurt and fear in his expression, though, because he leant in and kissed him again.  
“So we can actually _sleep_ , Vladimir.” Vlad had never much liked his full name, but the way Bertrand drew it out was just... It sounded good on his tongue. “And we'll need to, after our date tonight. Oh yes, that's what I was going to do.” He smoothed his free hand through Vlad's hair, the simple touch enough to make him shiver. “Will you go out with me tonight, after work?”  
“Hmm, I'll have to check my schedule, I might be washing my hair...” He pretended to think about it, then grinned. “Oh, no, wait, I have a guy who does that for me now. So I guess I can go out with you.” Bertrand groaned.  
“Did you have to remind me about that shower? Now I can't think of anything else.” Vlad laughed and took his empty cup from him.  
“Are you done with lessons for the day?” Bertrand nodded. “Wait here, and we can go now if you like.”  
“To my shower?” He reached up to whisper in his ear.  
“If that's what you want to do for our date.” Bertrand looked like he was seriously considering it, for a moment, but then he shook his head as if to clear it.  
“Mm, no, I have an idea.”  
“Hold that thought-” Vlad dashed into the café and returned the cup, refusing to answer any of Ingrid's questions as he reminded them that his shift had technically ended half an hour ago.  
“Don't catch anything!” Ingrid called after him as he raced back to Bertrand, and he blushed, hoping his boyfriend hadn't heard.

“Rude,” Bertrand told him, as if he was commenting on the weather, “what does she take me for? Ready to go?” Vlad nodded and slipped his hand into Bertrand's, wondering if he'd object. He didn't, much to Vlad's joy, and they walked for a minute or two in silence, holding hands tightly.  
“Where are we going?” Vlad asked him at last, and Bertrand smiled.  
“I thought... well, only if you want to, but I thought we could do the old dinner-and-a-film cliché.”  
“Sounds good.”

It _was_ good; dinner at a nice, informal restaurant and a silly zombie comedy they watched from very nearly the back row. By the time the lights came up, they'd missed several of the funniest moments and been asked to tone down the public affection twice, but Vlad couldn't help it; with the armrest between them out of the way, how was he supposed to _resist_ leaning against Bertrand, pressing kisses to his neck until he was forced to turn and kiss him back? When the lights did come back on he had to abruptly pull his hand away from where it had been tracing lazy patterns on Bertrand's thigh, coaxing a groan from the older man.  
“How old are you, Bertrand?” It had never occurred to him to actually ask – he supposed it was a bit of a personal question – but he didn't want to wait for the next birthday to find out.  
“Hm? Oh. Twenty-six. You?”  
“Nearly twenty-one. Get you, with your toyboy.” He leant in, ignoring the tutting of the woman in the row behind him as he shifted to straddle Bertrand's lap and murmur in his ear. “You ought to take me home and see how much youthful energy I've got.” Bertrand groaned again.  
“No, come on, I'm walking you home like a proper gentleman on a proper first date.”  
“ _First_ date?”screeched the woman behind them, and Vlad decided it probably _was_ time to leave.

They'd hardly got halfway back to the coffee shop before he pulled Bertrand into an alcove and attacked his lips.  
“Mmf- meant to – walk you home – like a gentleman-”  
“You are a gentleman,” Vlad purred, “but I want to kiss you. That OK?”  
“As long as it's just- that's not kissing, Vlad-!” Well, no, kissing usually didn't involve quite so much nibbling at someone's neck, and he supposed the way he was pressing against his boyfriend was a little less than innocent, but Bertrand was gorgeous and he didn't feel he could be blamed for getting carried away. “Vlad, we're in public. Come on.” He was sort of hoping that meant they were going back to Bertrand's, but he simply led him to the door of the coffee shop and stopped, taking his hands in his own.  
“That was a lovely date,” Vlad told him dutifully, “I think I might even see you again sometime.” Bertrand beamed at him.  
“Good. I'd like that.” He traced Vlad's cheekbone with his thumb before leaning in to place the softest, chastest of kisses on his lips. “I'll see you tomorrow?” Vlad nodded, dazed, and Bertrand smiled again. “Night, Vlad.”

Then he was gone, and Vlad didn't even hear his family's taunts as he drifted upstairs to bed.

* * *

Bertrand's phone rang in the middle of the night and he groped for it irritably.

“Hello?”  
 _“Sorry, Bertrand, did I wake you up?”_ He scrambled to sit up as he recognised the voice whispering to him.  
“Yeah, a bit, but that's OK. Is everything alright?”  
 _“Yeah... Yeah, I was just... thinking about you...”_ There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line that made every nerve in Bertrand's body tingle.  
“Vlad, what are you doing right now?”  
 _“Oh, ah, I should have known you'd guess... Like I said, I was thinking about you, and... one thing led to another...”_ Bertrand couldn't help it; his hand crept down under the covers to reach into his own boxers. _“Are you thinking about me?”  
_ “I am now. What are you thinking about me, Vlad?”  
 _“I'm thinking I wish you were here. We could... ah, we could sneak down to the coffee shop and actually make out on the counter instead of just talking about it-”  
_ “You'd get your shop closed down.”  
 _“Worth it. Fine, then I wish I was at yours. We could get in your shower again, only this time, we'd do more than just wash, and it wouldn't be over so fast, and you could press me against the tiles-”_  
“Oh god, Vlad, you're gonna be the death of me-”  
 _“I hope not, if you died I'd miss you and then we'd never get to find out if I have any weird kinks for you to explore. Do you have any weird kinks, Bertrand?”  
_ “I don't know- I- _Vlad_ -”  
 _“I think I might let you tie me up some time, just to- to- try it-”_ He heard Vlad's breath hitch as his speech stuttered, _“-or we could sneak into a fitting room somewhere and try to be quiet-”_  
“Oh- don't, I-”  
 _“You like that idea? Biting my lip to keep me quiet, my hand over your mouth as you try not to moan-”  
_ “Vlad- Vlad-!” He couldn't help it; he bucked up into his own hand, desperate for release, and listened to Vlad doing the same thing on the other end of the line. Before long, they were both breathing heavily, trying to recover themselves. “...That was intense,” Bertrand managed at last, still a little sleep-befuddled.  
 _“That was- I needed that. And one day, we should. Sneak into somewhere... Oh, I'm tired now...”  
_ “Sleep, Vladimir.” He couldn't see Vlad shiver down the phone, but he heard the little whimper that told him he had. “I'll see you tomorrow.”  
 _“Can I come round tomorrow? Not that dating and taking things slow isn't nice-”_  
“Yes. Yes, yes. Yes. Do. Please.”  
 _“Your brain is so scrambly right now. I love it. Night, Bertrand.”_  
“Night.” He was a sticky mess as he slipped back into slumber, but it was worth it; his dreams were full of Vlad.  
  
  



	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the end - I apologise if it seems abrupt, but it's how it ended up written. I thought I'd better get this posted before I move to a land of uncertain internet tomorrow, so here you go. The epilogue. I hope you've enjoyed the story, and thanks for reading!

“Bertrand?” It was a sleepy murmur; this was earlier in the morning than Vlad usually liked to be conscious. But Bertrand didn't reply, just curled tighter into a ball and whimpered. Drowsiness forgotten, Vlad sat bolt upright. _Not again._ “Bertrand, wake up, you're-!”

He didn't get any further; Bertrand's arms had come up to cover his face and he was shuffling away, perilously close to the edge of the bed. Last time this had happened, Vlad had tried to grab him and almost been thrown to the floor himself. A different approach was required; he reached out to stroke at Bertrand's hair instead.  
“You're safe, Bertrand, you're here with me. Vlad. Do you remember? Come on, just... wake up, and you'll see, you're OK.” Gradually, Bertrand's squirming stopped, though the whimpering took a little longer to die down. 

When he finally went completely still, there was a long, tense silence.  
“...Vlad?”  
“Yeah, it's me, I'm here.” Bertrand peered at him cautiously from behind his own arms and Vlad realised he was embarrassed.  
“I... sorry. It... bad dream-” Vlad wrapped his arms around him carefully.  
“I know, I know. But it's been weeks, I knew you were due one soon. Are you OK?” He nodded weakly.  
“One day I'll be better.” He chuckled, but the sound was sad. “It's been fourteen years since I got away, but... one day I won't wake you up all the time.”  
“Even if you never get past it completely, I'll be here for you. Promise.” 

They'd been together almost a year now, and Vlad had rarely slept in his own bed over the last six months. He'd adjusted to Bertrand's nightmares, infrequent though they were, and he knew Bertrand was about to get self-conscious and- yes, sure enough, the older man was reaching for a shirt.  
“You alright now, gorgeous?” Bertrand blushed as he tugged the shirt over his head, then snuggled closer.  
“Of course I am. I have you to look after me.” But his voice was wobbly, and Vlad had to use all his best distraction techniques before Bertrand finally managed to drift off again.

That afternoon saw them all at the Bean Counter; Bertrand had taken over a spare storeroom and converted it into an unofficial study, where he sometimes taught languages to small groups of adults but sometimes just holed up with Ingrid to argue over how to right the world's wrongs. This afternoon, Wolfie was in there, making use of the relative privacy to talk to his dad on the phone. Vlad's own father was pretending not to loiter outside the little room, while Will, Malik and Ingrid dealt with the ever-growing queue of customers and Vlad haggled with a supplier for a better deal on the new takeaway cups he was ordering. Bertrand was leant on the counter, trying to calm Malik down.

“Relax, I'm sure everyone will love her. _You_ like her, don't you?” Malik shot him an _are-you-stupid_ look and got a frown from Vlad for his pains. Bertrand continued, apparently unaffected. “Then I'm sure we'll like her. Stop worr-” Malik grabbed his arm, and Vlad agreed to the price his supplier was offering, barely registering it. As he wound up his call, a girl walked into the coffee shop and looked around her, finally making her way to the end of the queue. By the time she reached the front, thanks to Malik being the least subtle person in the world, the eyes of every member of the Count family – and their assorted hangers-on – were already on her. She smiled bashfully at Malik, glanced at the sign by the till... and did a double-take.

“Erin?” Malik seemed concerned, but Ingrid and Vlad were both sniggering quietly and it didn't take him long to catch on, turning the sign towards himself.

_Erin,_ someone had scrawled at the top.  
 _TODAY YOUR BARISTA IS:_

  1. _Hella fucking Nervous._

  2. _Desperately in love with you._




_FOR YOUR DRINK TODAY I RECOMMEND:_

_You make yourself at home._

“It was Ingrid,” Vlad assured him, “I just gave you the capital N. Hi Erin, welcome to the madhouse.” Malik looked as if he was going to kill him if he didn't stop talking, so it was a relief when Bertrand got between the two brothers and drew Vlad into a kiss, effectively shutting him up. By the time they'd moved apart, Malik was busy introducing Erin to his father and the rest of the family, and the two boys were left in relative peace. “Same goes for you, you know,” he murmured, “you're stuck with us now.”  
“Stuck with you,” Bertrand replied, “I can't imagine anything better.”

Vlad poked him in the ribs for being cheesy – that was _his_ job – and kissed him again.


End file.
